An Ectoplasmic Romance (prev ghost stories)
by CelestialLoverxxx
Summary: A dead seventeen year old Gray Fullbuster finds himself inexplicably drawn to his new roommate, a troubled Lucy Heartfilia who possesses exceptional powers. Being a teenage ghost stuck in a tiny town doesn't mean he doesn't start to fall for a living Lucy, leaving chaos in their wake.
1. Chapter 1

**And, I'm starting yet another new story :P This time it's a GrayxLucy. This is just the first chapter, an introduction of sorts, so it's a bit a short, sorry. I really hope you guys like it though :)**

* * *

 **One**

Being a teenage ghost is _not_ fun.

All the older ghosts make fun of you. Seniors? Yeah, and pigs fly. The kids know how to use abnormally rude gestures considering they haven't really lived long enough to learn them.

And if you find another teenage ghost for a friend, well good for you, because they come around every millennia or so.

Alright, I won't be mean. What I mean to say is, in my three years of being stuck at seventeen and hovering around uselessly in the blessed town of Magnolia, there haven't been any boys my age who snuffed it. (The ones that did are such jerks, they moved on to hell.)

I'm sorry, that was rude of me. It comes with being dead, I'm afraid.

I should introduce myself. I'm Gray Fullbuster. All sexual innuendoes and mockery you might make to my name to be refrained, thank you.

And, well, I'm dead. You might have figured that out by now.

Useful tip if you're planning on dying any time soon; Don't.

It's _boring._ Let me start from the middle; (If I started at the beginning, I'd have to explain how I died, and no one has time for sob-stories, duh.)

Once you're dead, and you realize you're stuck as an invisible spirit floating around the realization comes like a rollercoaster drop. Then you understand soon enough that there's no Ghost Exhibit A with a reception counter where some wise old poltergeist explains the rules of dead to you, oh no. No 'How To Be Dead' books, no notes on wandering the world for eternity, and absolutely no help from any of your ghost community.

They're _weird,_ I tell you.

The things, not all of us are stuck this way. The one ghostly granddad I'd once talked to told me that people only faded into wandering spirits when they weren't ready to move on to where the next world is yet. When they still had some void in their lives that had never been filled and was too big to ignore.

What was scary though, was when he said that not many of even _knew_ what this void was. He himself did not know what it was that had left him unable to belong to either life, but kind of squashed in the middle. ("Personally though," he'd added in a secretive tone. "It's fun this way. Everything's free!")

I'd tried mulling over, of course. Maybe it was that burger I never ate. Or perhaps it's that tux I never tried on.

But I've always been a fairly laid-back bloke so I thought, screw it. It'll come around when it does, and also, something big just happened yesterday.

You're probably thinking, _Woah, something big, huh? You must be psyched._

Well, when I say something big, I mean something surprising. And surprising doesn't come around often when you're a ghost.

As I may have mentioned before, most other ghosts in Magnolia are weird. Not people I really want for company, so instead of hanging out with them haunting Piper's Hotel and Casino, I'd come across an empty flat one morning.

I might as well add, before I get to my 'something big', that we most certainly are not _transparent_. I find it offensive to term ghosts as all white and pale, like what wrong did purple do?

Being a ghost is just being dead and unseen to the rest of the world. I still look the same, and I'm still wearing the same clothes for three years (yep, fashionable, that's me). I still see myself the same when I look at the mirror; the same raven-black hair sticking up in all directions, the same grey shirt and frayed jeans, the same dirty sneakers.

I can choose to hide myself at will, and in a way, you might put being a ghost as being a superhero.

I mean, I can literally disappear if I want. That's basically just me fading away for a while, mostly when I'm too emotional, but I can do it all the same.

Also, we _cannot_ walk through walls. (I wish we could. Sigh.)

So anyway, this flat I'd found was perfect. It was a small one-bedroom one, placed on top of small pizzeria. It was dusty and no one had lived in it for years. Not that I like dusty, or cobwebs for that matter, but it meant that no one would be bothering me here.

I couldn't exactly hang mistletoes in there, but it had become a sort of home for me. A new one. It was west facing, so the twilight sun streamed in at exactly the right moments.

It was a peaceful place.

At least until someone freaking bought it.

In all honestly I admit, I had _not_ expected that. It was a tiny place, and on top of a restaurant which was loud and noisy half the time; why would anyone except me want to stay here?

But no, yesterday morning I hear the door slam open, and a flustered blonde girl stands there with three bags in her hands.

I almost fell from my place on the window sill. (Not that it would matter if I did. Huh.)

She was followed by the disgruntled co-owner of the Bells Corner pizzeria—Mr. Bard, I think—who hurried her inside my flat.

Yes, I've lived in it for three years and the spiders know me. Of course it's my flat.

"This is it?" She halted in the middle of the room, speaking in a tone of deflated hope. She had her back to me, facing the bed opposite the window.

Then without waiting, she sighed. "Of course this is it." As she turned to Mr. Bard, I caught a glimpse of the grimace on her face.

My first impression of my new roommate was that she was a mess. Her deep golden hair was slowly unfurling from her loose topknot into all directions, and her cheeks were flushed, as if she'd been running. The three bags she was clutching with her arms weren't helping her rather flustered appearance.

"You get what you pay for," Bard said gruffly. He moved out of the doorway to drag in a few boxes and two huge plastic bags. Seeing the blonde's crestfallen expression he added a bit more kindly, "Don't worry miss. It's very pretty up here."

Not thoroughly convinced, she shrugged and gave a small smile.

Well, I could vouch for the excellent city view from up here, but it's not like anyone's listening to me now.

"Well, thanks a lot Mr. B," The girl said finally. "The rest of my stuff will be here in half an hour—send them up, will you?"

As per his usual niceness, Mr. Bard sniffed and said, "I'll see what I can do." Then he handed her a bunch of keys and left, slamming the door behind him as he did.

I suppressed a smirk. "Friendly guy," I commented loftily to myself. I leaned back against the window-pane, glancing at her as I did.

To my shock—here comes my something big—she gave a little gasp and whirled around so fast, that she knocked over a box.

I'm not sure who was more terrified in that second (Fancy that, a potentially dead guy afraid of a random blonde chick). I froze in my place—she couldn't possible have _heard_ me—and she stared at me for a split second.

Then: "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Um—I—didn't see you there," she finished lamely, but she looked bewildered and suspicious at the same time. "Um…what are you doing here? I thought this was a flat for one…"

But I wasn't listening to her. No, I preferred frowning at her in utter confusion for the next ten seconds.

When I found my voice, I asked very slowly, "You—you can see me?"

As soon as I said the words, the girl's eyes widened and she staggered back a little. Equally slowly, she nodded. Then, as if trying to contradict herself, she asked hurriedly, "What do you mean?"

Now, let me interrupt this happy little story by throwing in some light for all you living novices out there—being D-E-A-D means you're literally gone off the face of the earth. No one sees you. Being a ghost is almost the same thing. It's being a remainder of your living self, unseen and unheard.

And one fine day a human girl walks in and starts _talking_ to me?

"But, you can hear me too?" I continued incredulously.

By now, she'd dropped her keys. "Oh no," she breathed out suddenly, and I saw her face grow pale as some kind of realization hit her. "Oh no, no, no…"

Me being the sensitive guy I am, jumped down and rushed over to her. I grabbed her wrist, and held it, awed. I could feel it. Her warm skin. Her _pulse_.

"And you can feel me?" I asked excitedly. There was a sudden burst of hope inside me.

(Little note: I swear this is not how I generally treat girls. Any females wanting to throw themselves at me are quite welcome, I assure you I'll be on my best ghost behaviour.)

At that, she uttered a little squawk and tore her hand free from my grasp, stepping back and falling butt-first onto another box full of her stuff. Terrified, she looked at me.

Then it hit me. Why would she be terrified? If she thought I was another human at first, even if my questions were ridiculous to human ears, why was she scared?

Remembering my fear when I first got to know that I had died, I stepped forward tentatively. "Are you—are you dead too?"

I know what you're saying. _Smart Gray_. _She just magically died in the two second span after a very much alive Mr. B brought her in._

But that was the only explanation I could think of.

And it seems like, that was the ultimate wrong thing to say.

She let out a small moan and scrambled up ungracefully. "Oh, God," she mumbled. "Oh God."

"No, it's okay!" I said hastily. "I can help you!"

But she had picked up her keys and I saw her edging towards the door. Let me just tell you, if she was confused, I was soaking in every syllable of confusion.

"Hey wait!" I called, but the blonde had wrenched the door open.

"You're not real," she said to herself, and then she shut the door quickly behind her, leaving me standing in the middle of the room surrounded by a bunch of her stuff.

I stood still for a moment, trying to make sense of this bizarre afternoon. After a minute or so, it was very clear to me that she absolutely was not a newly dead. She was human; I'd _felt_ the blood pulsing through her veins.

And if she was, how could she have conversed with me like any random guy on the street? Obvious reasons aside, why was she _frightened?_ It was almost as if she was reliving something, and I for one was pretty sure normal humans don't go around chatting up with old ghost pals every day.

If you're getting to know me and planning on marrying me any time soon, I should probably also inform you how stubborn I can be.

Which is exactly why I was going to wait her out. _We_ , had some talking to do.

* * *

 **The next chapters will be longer, I promise. This is just a beginning. Please do review and tell me if you liked it, because it'll encourage to keep writing. :) (I apologize for any mistakes I might have made; I didn't proofread it very well.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys :) Thank you so much for all the support, all your reviews mean a lot to me and they do encourage me to keep going.**

 **So, thanks a lot to: WishingUsuiWasReal, MeahChan, Amy Kitty Katz, Cirrusstratus,** **Please Notice Me Sempi, 0Bluemoon0, Nicola105, IdentityCrisis03, MelodyOrchid, MistyDew, Rafaela12346789, noah03, and xXx Tigerblade xXx, for reviewing, following and favouriting this story.**

 **I would like to mention, that I have used the concept of a mediator in this story. It's there in some books and TV shows, where a human is like a guide for spirits to the afterlife or next world, and that's the idea I have used for Lucy here. I do not own this concept of a mediator, but I have used it. :)**

 **I hope you like this. :)**

* * *

 **Two**

It was dark when the door next opened. I'd been in my usual perched position on by the window, watching the cars on the lit streets.

Being poetic, you see. And yes, even ghosts get to be poetic.

As the door shut, I turned my head quickly. The blonde girl had come in looking worn out, and the first thing she did as she kicked off her shoes was turn her eyes to the window.

I raised my arms helplessly. "Still here."

She looked a lot less terrified now. In fact, she looked as if she'd caved into something, though I was not sure what. "I was hoping you'd have not existed by the time I came back," she said at last.

"Touché."

As I came down, I noticed her wary expression. She looked even messier now; I caught the crumbs and sauce on her hands. Was she working here?

"I think we should talk." Stepping on dangerous waters here. "And I mean, really talk."

Looking tired, she sighed and then sat down on the nearest box of luggage. The rest of her things had come up somewhere in the evening, and I hadn't touched them. The last thing she would want was ghostly DNA all over her stuff.

"Look," she said, looking at the wood. "I thought this wouldn't be happening again, but it is."

"What do you—"

But she held up a finger to stop me, and I did. "I think," she continued. "That if you would just please leave and never come back here, we'll be alright. Everything will be fine."

Excuse me? Here I was, having an actual conversation with a living, breathing human again, and she was talking about asking me to leave?

It's a shame we don't have a scary switch or something. Being a ghost doesn't really have its perks. You'd think we'd be cooler.

"No," I said suddenly, feeling a twinge of annoyance. She looked up, and I noticed the light chocolate brown colour in her sleepy eyes. "No, everything will _not_ be fine. Who _are_ you?"

She frowned. "Isn't that what I should be asking?"

"I'm dead," I said flatly, watching her wince. She didn't scream though. Or run away again. She looked defeated, as if a horrible suspicion had been proved correct. "I'm seventeen, and I've _been_ seventeen for the last three years. And you're the first living person I've talked to since. You need to tell me— _what_ you are," I ended.

We both glared at each other for a minute, both of our lips turned down at the corners in fury. Then she recoiled and brought her knees up, resting her chin on it.

"Fine," she said. "I've talked to one before. One of you," she said.

That kind of hurt, the way she said _one of you_ , as if we were a pack of mutts. But then, there were only so many polite words for ghost communities.

"What do you mean?"

Another sigh. "It happened when I was fourteen," the girl said after a small pause. "We'd just moved to Magnolia, my mum and I. On our second day here—" she took a shuddering breath. "Someone called out me on the porch. I was just locking the door, and I heard this woman call out to me."

Confused, but thrilled, I felt myself sit down on the floor. "What did she say?"

She shrugged. "She said, 'There you are. Finally.'"

"What? What kind of a—"

She shot me a scathing look, and I shut up. She looked away as she spoke again. "Then she said she was ready. Ready to _move on to her next life_. She was a young woman, barely twenty. When she saw me, she looked so happy, I thought she was an old relative I'd forgotten. But then," she stared directly at me. "Then, she took hold of my hand, and clutched it tight. The next second I was yelling in pain, and she was still smiling and—" she broke off.

I didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself. "Then what?"

"The pain stopped, and she was gone." She turned her eyes back to me. I noticed how long her dark lashes were, and then quickly averted my eyes. "One of our neighbours was right outside our house; he was worried. He kept asking me why I'd screamed and I kept telling him about the woman."

The blonde sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. "He said he'd seen me extend my hand and start crying out. There was no woman. He saw no one."

I had seen some heroes in my little community, but I couldn't imagine how this flustered half-woman here had survived through this. What she said fit perfectly. When I got my pep-talk on moving on and stuff, my helpful ghostly grandpa had told me something—something about passing through living ones. Exceptional ones, who were the bridge between the two worlds.

"That's why, when you said you're dead..." She buried her hands in her face. "I don't want to have anything to do with this."

We were silent for a moment. Her eyes were glazed as she remembered that horrifying incident, and mine were watching her.

She was first to speak. "So you understand now?" She set her jaw firmly, as if braced for a fight. "You understand why I don't want to believe you're actually here?"

"Hey, I've been here for—"

"Look, I needed a job, and I got a place," she interrupted me. "I just want to live my life, and I don't want _you_ here. It's…unhealthy."

Despite knowing what she'd seen and gone through, I felt insulted at the way she spoke to me. It wasn't my choice to be dead, you see. I didn't ask for who knows how many years of pointless floating around before I found that little something to move on.

"No."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

Mimicking her expression, I got up, arms crossed. "I said no. I'm not leaving. This is my home, so I guess you're my roommate now."

Looking as if she was living a nightmare, she shook her head violently. Her tangled hair started to stick up. "No! You don't understand," she pleaded finally. "You can find a new place, but I've barely got enough money to stay here! Waitressing isn't going to give me enough!"

I couldn't find a new place, and I wouldn't. There were only so places where I'd be welcome, seen or not. It was pretty evident she didn't want ghosts around (duh) so I wasn't going to bother her, but in a way, she could see it as me just haunting her room. You know, same old.

I leaned forward, clapping one of her shoulders. "Look, I swear I'm not _going on_ any time soon. You don't have to worry. Just, this is my home okay? I can't leave."

She uttered a low sound and moved away from my hands, again. "Don't touch me," she snapped.

I whistled, holding up my hands. "You're very polite, miss."

"You're dead," she hissed.

"And you're not," I said simply. "I like this game. What's next?"

"This is not a GAME!" Her voice became a bit hysterical, and I stopped trying to make fun of her, looking apologetic.

"You do realize what you are?" I said, when she didn't speak.

"What?" she spat out.

"You're like—a mediator, of sorts. You're like a guide, to the next world. You have a gift."

"Oh a gift alright," she said bitterly.

That seemed like it. We stayed silent for a while, nothing but the noise of cars between us, until she ran her fingers over her tired face, stifling a yawn.

"Sleepy?" I said obviously.

She got up without answering, looking around resignedly at the more or less empty but cleaned room, and all her unpacked boxes and bags.

"Just because you're staying here," she said, turning her back to me and heading toward the bathroom. "Don't think you and I are going to be talking."

With that she entered and slammed the door shut.

* * *

I didn't sleep. I didn't need to, more like. I closed my eyes when I was tired sometimes but it never helped.

So I stayed in a corner of the room, leaning back against the walls. When she walked out in her nightclothes and her brushed hair, she looked definitely better.

Well, at least until she saw me.

"What are you still doing here?" she snapped.

Alright, _now_ she was getting on my nerves. Mediator or not, no one gets to speak to dead people this way.

I narrowed my eyes. "Roommates, remember?" I said coolly.

She made a mingled sound of exasperation and disgust and headed towards the bed. Ignoring me, that's the new game.

It wouldn't matter much to _me._ Admittedly it would be frustrating not be able to talk to the only living person, but of course she wasn't one for thinking about _me_.

Hey, like I said, I can be a nice guy. If Little Miss Sunshine wanted her privacy, I could totally do that.

"You know what," I called loudly, as she flung her clothes onto the bed. "You've made it pretty clear you hate ghosts—"

"Well—"

"—so just as a way to show you how respectful we are," I continued, my teeth on edge with the last word. "I'll leave you alone."

Still looking ready for a fight, she relaxed a bit, bewildered. "You will?"

I shrugged. "See you in the morning then." I gave her a small, victorious smirk and enjoyed the silent shriek of rage in her eyes.

It was strange, the way she looked at me, as if I'd drag her into a nightmare any moment. She'd seemed rather nice when she came here—kind, even, the way she spoke to Mr. B.

But I guess species matter. Huh.

"Whatever." She turned around and climbed onto the bed, dragging a pillow over her face as I continued to watch her.

I could've slipped out of the window, but the sensation still made me feel odd all over. I'd never got used to the way the others melted into nothing but wisps of spirits into the air, arriving at where they wanted—though I'd definitely heard of some of them losing a limb in the process, and though it could not have hurt, it would _seriously_ ruin matrimonial chances.

So I crossed over to the front door, glancing back at her as I did. She wasn't sleeping, but trying to convince me with her suspiciously loud breathing.

"I'm leaving."

No answer.

"You could tell me your name, at least," I said. "Since we're going to be living together and all."

She didn't reply.

"I'm Gray Fullbuster," I hinted.

When she didn't move the pillow from her face, I closed my eyes in irritation and made to shut the door behind me.

As I stepped out, I heard her muffled voice from the bed. "My name's Lucy." A pause. "Lucy Heartfilia."

I smiled. "Goodnight, Lucy Heartfilia."

* * *

"Oh boy."

I stared up warily at the glittering neon sign on Piper's Hotel and Casino. It was an old place—had been there on the corner of Gale Street for centuries, so I guess that's how it became such a popular ghost hangout.

Now if you're wondering, I'd like to tell you, that we dead people do _not_ turn into zombies. That's terribly racist, I'm afraid.

(Technically the polite term for ghosts is supposed to be spirits nowadays, but who has time for small details like politeness, right?)

So any human entering this hotel would probably not feel more than the slight unease in an atmosphere where ghosts are. They most certainly would not run screaming their heads off from an army of green goopy half-dead zombies.

It's a tough job being scary, I tell you.

I wound up at Piper's last night without really knowing how.

Maybe I missed my ghostly pals. Or perhaps I needed advice about how to deal with humans; when I'd been one, I certainly hadn't been this complicated around the topic of dead spirits.

When I entered, I was immediately hit by the glaring lights and loud music; looks like I entered through the wrong way.

Ten minutes later I found myself on the carpeted floor of the hotel, trying to remember exactly which place it was that my community was haunting, when I was pushed from behind.

I turned to see my _least_ favourite ghost. No one really knew what his real name was, this ghoul, but his popular nickname was Hot Eye.

Like, ew. What kind of a ridiculous name is Hot Eye? For a _dude._

He grinned down at me. "Hey, Blue!" he spoke too loudly than required. "Long time no see."

Regretting my decisions already, I gave a non-committable jerk of my head. "It's Gray."

This ghoul was bonkers, I tell you. He must have been a small-stage actor in his human life, because I'd never seen him without the hilarious make up on his face.

"Whatever." He beamed. "Come join us for a drink!"

Thoroughly confused, I followed him up a flight of stairs and into a suite room. It wasn't very suite room inside, I can tell you that. In fact, when fifty or so ghosts occupy a hotel room, it's not exactly the prettiest of sights because ghosts are some of the messiest people out there.

I lost Hot Eye in the crowd, but half through the room I noticed the dining table had been converted into a bar counter where our wise, old poltergeist was handing out mundane drinks. The spirits were draining them, but of course they couldn't feel them—we couldn't eat or drink human food. Actually, the fact that I'd not touched a chocolate bar for three whole years of my life was a miracle enough.

They were shouting for more drinks. Pathetic.

 _Those_ blokes ain't going to move on.

"Gray?" I heard a soft voice call. "Hey, Gray!"

"Mavis?" I looked over the crowd to spot her, and quickly made my way to her.

Mavis was a small, delicate ghost. She was a petite figure really, and she was a lot younger than me when she died, but she was one of the normal ghosts out here.

"Hey!" She smiled up at me. "I thought you didn't come here anymore!"

"Oh I'm not here to stay." I returned her smile. It'd been ages since I'd seen her, but she was always very quiet and stayed with her mother; it was very rarely that we got to talk to her. "Where's your mother?"

Mavis's eyes turned darker and she looked down, fiddling with her thumbs. "She—uh, she moved on."

"Oh, my God." I stared at her in shock for a second, and then reached out to embrace her. "When?"

"Last week. I think it was through a small boy." Mavis shrugged. "I didn't know there were any mediators in this town, but…" she trailed off. We broke away and I patted her arm comfortingly.

There are, I silently thought.

"But it's okay," Mavis said a little more brightly. "I'm happy for her. Though I do wonder what's left for _me_ to do…"

"I kind of wanted to ask you about that," I said. Yes, I know she was miles younger, but she'd been dead longer. Technically in dog years—er, ghost years—she was older. "Do you think it ever happens for some people?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are there any of us who never move on?" I said more clearly.

Mavis nodded. "Some of us never find it, but it's very rare. Too rare. Imagine wandering for eternity," she finished in a horrified tone.

"Hey Fullbuster!" Someone called from the makeshift bar. "Come have one of these—er, what are these Al?" He turned to a guy beside him and then called back. "Yeah, a scotch! They're pretty!"

I stared blankly at him. That guy had died somewhere in the 16th Century, and he still hung around stealing video games he couldn't play and drowning scotches he couldn't drink.

"No thanks," I called lazily.

Mavis gave a little giggle next to me. "There's one example of a lost cause."

I grimaced. "So, this human is now living where I was."

My friend flipped her long, silvery hair back and her green eyes widened. "Tough for you, huh?"

I gave a sarcastic sort of laugh. "Tough for _her_ ," I said. "She can see me. And hear me."

"A mediator?" Mavis looked surprised.

"Seems like an inexperienced one," I said. "Only one woman, when she was fourteen."

"Well how old is she now?"

I opened my mouth and then shut it again. "Uh, I didn't ask. She's not exactly friendly."

Someone put on very loud and very rubbish music, and no one protested. Mine were drowned in the sea of cheers and beats. These ghosts at least knew how to party. I wonder how they'd managed to live here this long.

"But I don't want to leave," I said, turning back to Mavis. "I can't find another home, can I?"

She looked at me with a bit of pity. "You _could_ , I guess," she said. "But it's hard for us to leave the places we call our own. There are only so many places where the dead are welcome."

I stuffed my cold hands inside my pockets. Being dead is being cold. (Which doesn't reduce my external hotness, ladies, I assure you.) "You see, I've lived there for so long—"

"You mean you've haunted your little place."

"Uh no, I—"

"Call it what you want Gray," Mavis smiled. "If you live where a human does, you're haunting that place."

Some tall ghost with dark ringlets framing her face reached out and grabbed Mavis by the hand. "Come dance with us," she offered in a loud, boisterous voice. As Mavis gave me another apologetic smile and let herself be dragged off, her friend peered down at me. "Who are _you_?" she said.

"Oh never mind me." I gave her a small wave. "I'm just leaving. Bye Mavis."

Her goodbye was lost in loud yells and music as the rest of them joined. A couple of other ghosts—an old, married, and very much ever-grumpy gay couple leered at me as I went. Some of them didn't like the way I stayed away from their usual haunting places, but hey, I'm a hot, tragic lone wolf. They should write TV shows on me.

As I made to leave, a hotel janitor gingerly opened the door and peered in, frowning. As far as I knew, he probably couldn't see anything but a loud music system and six or seven shot glasses.

Trying not to laugh as he made his way slowly to the music system, I watched him shudder a bit as he walked past the several ghosts. He switched it off and then with another shiver, hurried out of the room.

As I left too, I distinctly heard Hot Eye say something and then promptly turn the music back on.

The terrified janitor, unable to understand what just happened, quickened his pace through the corridor.

For a little bit of fun after a messed up day, I followed him and blew air onto his neck.

He gave a small yelp and rushed down the stairs, and I leaned back against a wall, laughing loudly.

* * *

You want to know what I'm doing right now, eh?

Don't lie. I know you like me.

Jokes aside, I found myself walking back to Bells Corner at around four in the morning. It had been raining all night, but instead of my clothes getting wet, I simply felt colder and clammier.

There was a narrow second flight of stairs right next to the restaurant that led to the small flat, and another inside. I liked the smell of the food despite not being able to eat them, so I generally went through the pizzeria.

As I entered, I noticed the owner, Igneel come out of the back door. He was followed by his son, but I never really found out what his name was.

They were arguing about something and I couldn't help but overhear.

Scratch that. I love eavesdropping.

"Would you please give it a rest, Natsu?" Igneel was saying. "I'm not hiring anyone any more. I can't afford it. This isn't just some place where all your friends get money, you know."

"Dad, it's just one year! And we'd need the money for our band and—"

"Well, instead of making _Sting_ work, maybe you could try working for a change," Igneel said in a dangerous tone. "And I've hired the last one. There are no more empty spots."

"So you can't help _me_ out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Natsu." Igneel glared at his son. "I just hired this young woman yesterday, and I can say she needs the job more than Sting does. Both of you should focus on college, not on a _band_."

"Ugh." Natsu rolled his eyes, looking a lot like a spoilt brat, and I loved it when his dad stuffed a rag in his hands and said, "Go clean the tables, now that you're here."

This is why I liked Igneel. He was one of the most sensible people in this town.

"But they're clean!" Natsu protested and I made my way up like a boss up the stairs.

"Well." Igneel's voice wafted up. "Clean them again."

* * *

I reached my flat, but when I tried to get in, I saw the door was locked. I gritted my teeth. That little blonde freak.

Being the cool cat I am, I slipped in through two adjoining windows. This wasn't the first time I'd had to fight a locked door.

Here's the part where I come in and see a pretty Lucy sleeping peacefully, with her long, golden hair haloing her face and whatnot. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Less dramatically, I came in to see her sprawled across the bed, a pillow dragged over her head and one arm dangling onto the floor. I heard a small, muffled sound of her snoring very, very lightly.

I shook my head, grinning a bit, knowing how stalkerish it was for me to come back here while she was still sleeping. She _did_ have nice hair though.

Determined to keep my word, I turned to sit in my usual position, when my knee accidentally knocked over a plastic bag perched on top of a box by mistake. "Damn it!"

It fell to the floor with a thud, and Lucy jolted awake, the pillow falling. Light sleeper, then, huh? She looked around wildly for a second, saw me, and there it was, her usual frown back on her face.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing?"

I held up my palms in protest. "Hey, I just came back!"

Trying to hide her sleep-mussed state, she ran her fingers through her hair a bit. "Go away." Her words were cut off with a yawn.

I really wish she'd stop saying that. "You know you snore in your sleep, right?" I teased. Hey, if she was going to be rude with me, I was going to have my fun. This was a two-way street.

She blushed in embarrassment for a second, before looking up at me. "I hate you," she said darkly.

"Comes with the package, Lucy Heartfilia." I smirked, swinging my legs over the window sill and looking away.

I tried not to chuckle as she muttered incoherent insults after me.

It was going to be this way for a while.

* * *

 **That's it then :) I really hope you liked this chapter. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello guys :) Here's another chapter! I'm not very happy with some parts in this one, but it opens up a lot of things.**

 **Anyway, thank you to: Angel of The Blue Flames, ChaoticDucky, AsDarknessSpreads, ILoveCelestialIce, nskie01, ravenclaw-diadem, .I, Shay Itten and tigerwaterflower6, for reviewing, following and/or following this story.**

 **Hope you like it :)**

* * *

 **Three**

Lucy Heartfilia stared at me, a brown paper bag in her hands.

I _know_ what I said about not messing up her stuff with all my ghostly imprints, but I'd always been a bit of a neat freak. It was annoying me, the boxes and luggage strewn across the room, so I'd started to unpack the one with books in it.

Seems like she wasn't going to be very happy about me being helpful.

"I didn't know that _roommates_ ," she said finally. "Went through each other's things."

She set down the paper bag on the desk by the window and stepped over to me, pulling the box out of my hands.

"I was just helping you set up this place," I protested indignantly. "It's not like I'm _stealing_."

She grimaced. It was around seven in the morning, and she'd slipped out to get something a while ago. I knew for a fact that if she was working downstairs, work wouldn't start until nine, so I figured she'd take advantage of all this time and actually start unpacking.

I guess we neat freaks are a social minority.

Ignoring her, I crossed a bag to go peer inside whatever she'd bought. I held up a bagel and a doughnut. "Breakfast?" I grinned.

She snatched those away from me too. "Well, humans tend to get hungry," she said.

For the first time, I actually noticed what she was wearing. We'd been so intent on arguing ourselves into compromises; I hadn't exactly paid attention what she really looked like.

Lucy had a white T-shirt and black denim shorts on, her feet in the same converses she'd been wearing last night. At a glance, she looked pretty simple, but she did have striking features. Like her eyes—she had beautiful eyes, at least when they weren't glaring down at me. And her hair, that contrasted her clothes wonderfully, curling slightly as they reached her shoulders.

But her lips were turned down at the corners, her jaw set firmly in determination, her voice giving away only half what she meant.

"What are you looking at?" She said suddenly, looking a bit self-conscious.

I shook my head. "Nothing." I gestured around me. "How about you stuff in that bagel and we get started?"

"Did I ask for your help?" She shot back at me, averting my eyes as she bent down, bagel in hand, to sit cross-legged next to her box full of books and folders and papers. I'd put most of them on the two-piece shelf on the east wall.

I sat down opposite her, the box between us. "So you're obviously a reader," I commented, running my fingers over the leather spines. She wouldn't say anything about herself until I poked her into doing it.

She frowned at me for a moment. Well pardon me if I was trying to be conversational, but the least I could do is confirm my mediator roommate wasn't an undercover terrorist. (Again, not that it would matter to me.)

"Yeah," she said at last, through a mouthful of bread. "I've always read a lot."

"And these folders," I continued, reaching in and pulling one out. "What are these? I thought you didn't go to college—"

"They're personal!" She interrupted, trying to nick them back, but I had caught a glimpse of the pages inside; they were filled with the same handwriting that had labeled the boxes.

"Do you write?" I looked up at her interestedly, and she blushed furiously.

"So what if I do?" She said defensively.

I shrugged. "Why are you ashamed of what you do?" I muttered, flipping through the pages, catching words here and there.

She was silent for so long, that I looked up again. "What?"

"I'm not ashamed of writing," she said quietly. "I'm not sure what you're trying to do here, Gray, but if you think you're going to sit here like a friend and get to know me better, you're wrong."

It was the first time she'd actually used my name. "Fine." I dropped the folder. "I'm sorry."

She ignored me. Wow. So unexpected.

The next few minutes, she let me unpack with her and help put everything in its place. All without really speaking to me. I couldn't help but laugh when I found her mobile phone lying crushed underneath all her clothes, and I didn't fail to catch the bashful grin across her face as she switched it on.

Holy dolphins, she _did_ know how to smile.

Somewhere along the way, I stole her phone and played the first song I could find on her playlist; for once, instead of yelling at me for touching her stuff again, she started to look a bit happier as she worked.

(I would like to add that it was immensely hard with my OCD habits to not pulverize her when she stuffed all her clothes in a horrific bundle into the closet. Oh dear God.)

She tossed a blue pillow with the picture of a penguin on the bed, muttering something about nostalgia, and then blindly threw a picture frame at me when I sniggered at it.

I caught it quickly, before it hit the wall. It was a picture of a much younger Lucy sitting on a bicycle, with another blonde woman smiling next to her. She looked an awful lot like the Lucy before me right now, so she was most probably her mother.

"Hey is this your—"

But she saw the picture in my hands and took it back immediately. "You have a real issue with privacy invasion."

Excuse me? "You were the one who tried to bash my head in with it!" I said. "And you have a real issue with opening up, you know."

"Um, to ghosts? Yeah," she said, which stung just like she'd intended it to.

The real reason it stung was because the last half an hour that we'd been jamming to her tunes and brightening up the room felt like I was—well, living again. Not dead. It felt like we were just two people hanging around.

But no. She has to remind me how we're a life apart every time I offend her without even meaning to.

I watched her as she put the frame on the bedside table along with two other pictures and a spectacle case. "But yes, that's my mum," she spoke with her back to me. "That's Layla. And," she pointed to another picture of a stern looking dude in a suit. "That's my dad."

"So how come you don't live with your parents?" I asked.

She looked at me a bit sadly, and I was sorry I asked all of a sudden. "Well, my dad's…um—" She looked like she was choking on words and I stepped in hurriedly.

"No, I get it. I'm sorry," I finished a bit lamely.

"That's okay." She shrugged. "It happened when I was very small. He was in the army," she added a little proudly. "He's the bravest man I know."

I couldn't help but give her a small smile. I wonder if he'd died in Magnolia—could it be possible, that he was still here?

Though I couldn't place the man in the picture with someone in Piper's…

"And my mother's in—well some other part of Fiore." Lucy broke me out of my reverie, speaking a bit bitterly.

Scared of even to keep asking, I decided to change the subject. This girl was like a grenade waiting for its pin to be pulled—and I wasn't going to be the one to pull it any time soon.

"So." I sat beside her on the bed, grabbing her case. "Glasses?"

"Reading ones." She took them from me and opened it, slipping her black nerd glasses on.

She looked—well, from a stranger's point of view, pretty hot with them on.

There was only one more bag left to unpack, and by now with all our hard work (and with the added advantage of me simply being an excellent me), the flat actually looked miles better than what it was when dusty and unlived in.

There were books and CDs in the shelves, two posters on the walls, pencils on the desk and life in the room.

"What do you write?" I asked casually, slipping down from the bed onto the floor instead. "Fiction? Poetry?"

She raised her eyebrows at me. "That's enough about me for one morning, dead guy," she said. "How about you?"

Feeling a bit attacked, I raised my hands in a questioning way. "What about me?"

She crossed her arms, leaning forward. "I don't know anything about you."

"You ask and I'll tell."

Looking wary for a second, she fished out the doughnut from the neglected paper bag this time and then said, "Alright. How did you die?"

It was like the temperate dropped ten degrees. "I'm not answering that," I said coldly. "It's not fun to relive one's death you know."

"Well I wouldn't know, would I?" She said, undeterred. "How about what you like to do? Besides trying to annoy me to death, of course."

Voice still on edge, I replied, "I paint. Or I used to."

Looking a bit interested, she grinned down at me. "Brilliant. What else?"

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and a male voice called out, "Excuse me, uh, Miss Heartfilia?"

I cocked an eyebrow, moving away to let Lucy pass and pull open the door. Oh joy. Igneel's stuck-up offspring was standing in the doorway.

Lucy, who clearly was seeing him for the first time, looked at him enquiringly. "Yes?"

Natsu cleared his throat. "Uh…do you have company?" he peered into the room over her shoulder, and just for my entertainment, I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers at him. Lucy shot me a dark look as I laughed.

"No, I don't," she said smoothly.

"But I heard you talking—you said something like 'Brilliant, what el—'"

"I assure you," Lucy said coolly. "I don't have company. You may have been hallucinating. Now, who are you?"

Thoroughly unconvinced, Natsu looked at her. "I'm Natsu Dragneel. Igneel's son."

I kind of liked how Lucy just stood there, giving off the impression that she had the whole situation in her hands. When she spoke next, she sounded a bit wary. "Does he have a message for me?"

"Oh, um, no," Natsu said quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He was losing some of his usual strut—oh.

I looked at the way his dark eyes were moving away from Lucy a bit nervously, as if he hadn't quite known what he'd signed up for. He was obviously, well, a bit intimidated by her. It wasn't like she didn't look good enough to do it.

"I came here to talk to you," he sounded unsure. "Um, may I come in?"

"No, I'm unpacking, and it's a mess." Lucy smiled, crossing her arms and not moving away. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"

"Would…you mind terribly if you resigned your position?" he blurted out bluntly. "You see, I have this friend, and he and I really need the money, if he could just get the job, and I'm pretty sure my dad will be willing to help us out. Uh, you could still live here and all, just…" He faltered, and all three of us here knew it was lost cause.

Lucy's voice became oddly formal. "Yes," she said. "I _would_ mind actually. I need this job."

Looking a bit furious, Natsu opened his mouth to argue, but Lucy cut across him. "Look, I'm very sorry, but I can't. If your dad is having any problems, then he can talk to me and I'll be happy to comply. But I'm not going resign just because you're telling me to."

"Hear, hear!" I called, and Lucy turned to give me another venomous glare. Oh this was going to be fun. If no one but her could hear a word I said, the possibilities of entertainment…

"I'm just—where do you keep looking?"Natsu sounded irritated.

"Are we done here?" Lucy asked instead. Still looking like he was going to keep fighting a lost war, Natsu fumed for a moment, and then turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

"Well done." I smiled at her, as she rolled her eyes. "Also, you're late for work."

A few seconds later she was done yelling that it was all my fault, had grabbed her keys and slammed the door shut behind her.

* * *

I was going to give her ten minutes before I followed her down to Bell's Corner.

Don't look at me like that, I was just curious. In fact, this was the most curious I'd been about humans in a very long time.

And maybe it all had to do with the fact that this particular was not just any human. An exceptional one. A mediator.

So selfish intrigue or not, I was intrigued all the same.

But I was still sitting here after she left, gnawing on my bottom lip and looking down at the floor. When she'd asked me how I died—

Truth is, I didn't remember it well myself. I could remember how cold it was. It had been snowing. Somewhere after Christmas, I'm sure. And the road had been dark and empty and wet. God, and I didn't see it.

But what happened next was something I still refused to relive in my memory.

I stared absent-mindedly at the pictures of her by the bed, not really seeing them. When I used to paint, it wouldn't be _her_ , but her mother's face which would be in a way, more beautiful to put on paper. There was a regal look to her pale features.

Looking at the frame drew my mind back to Lucy Heartfilia, the mediator. Whether she knew it or not, I didn't have a clue about this stuff either. Like I keep saying, freaking no one sits down and explains Rules of Ghoul to you. I guess I won't get it myself until I wiggle myself to the other side. Maybe that's why no one ever really knows.

After a minute, I shook it off and pranced up, totally feeling the mischievous smirk on my face.

I'd never been one for heavy brooding anyway.

* * *

When I reached the stuffed pizzeria, glorious smells hit me at once. It seemed that _not_ being able to enjoy pepperoni pizza didn't necessarily mean I couldn't let myself be intoxicated by the smell and want to die all over again.

There was an empty table for two near the counter, and I sauntered over there and made myself comfortable. It was a small place, but warm and cozy. I didn't have to search for my mediator; she appeared holding with two silver trays laden with three plates of pasta almost as soon I sat down.

She tipped two of them at the table in front of me, and as she set the third one down with her back to me, I called out to her. "Hey, miss! I want to order!"

The man Lucy had set down the last plate in front of was speaking to her, so Lucy glanced over her shoulder to throw me a response. "Just a minute—" She stiffened as she saw me grinning at her.

Her customer drew her attention back impatiently. Once she was done with him, she hurried over to me, sneaking looks past her shoulder in case someone thought she was looking like a maniac.

Which she probably was. I mean, she _was_ talking to a seemingly empty chair.

" _What_?" she hissed, bending down as if looking for something.

"One pepperoni pizza, large," I said, trying not laugh.

She glared at me. "Gray, I swear I'm going to—"

"Hey, Heartfilia!" A girl called from across the counter. "Hurry up, will you!"

"Coming, Cana!" she called. The brown-haired girl she spoke too narrowed her grey eyes once, shrugged, and then disappeared through the kitchen door.

I beamed at Lucy and propped my feet up on the table.

She tucked in a loose strand of hair, clutched her empty trays tightly and started to walk away with another dark look. As she left, she said, "Can you even eat…our food?" I caught the curious note in her voice.

A bit regretfully, I shook my head. She looked triumphant as she walked away.

The noise of the place was oddly comforting. As I sat there, I had enough time to reflect on that fact that though I didn't know her well enough, I was starting to understand Lucy Heartfilia a bit.

After all, there's no better starting to a lasting friendship without an abundance of secrets, right?

* * *

 **Another one done! Did you like it? Please do review and tell me if you did, or did not! See you guys later ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey there! :) This chapter turned out a bit longer than I expected it to, but I hope you like it.**

 **To all the people who have been reviewing, thank you :) Thanks also, to the others who have reviewed, followed and favorited this story: VivaRRock, ghosthuntergal, julez1225 and Meister-Amy.**

* * *

 **Four**

"Here." Lucy held out a packet to me.

Slightly suspicious, I frowned and took it from her. She'd only just come up from work, with the usual food crumbs on her fingers and a bit of tiredness in her voice, but her eyes looked eager.

I set it on the desk, pulling it open.

Then I stared at the contents for a remarkably long time.

"What the hell is this?" I said finally.

Lucy shrugged, looking like she was trying to suppress a smile. That was odd; yes, it _had_ been a week already of us surviving in this flat together, but it was strange for me to see her smile willingly.

"I figured," she said, fishing out something else from another brown bag. A bottle of wine. "That as roommates, _both_ of us should have something here that belongs to us right?"

When I raised an eyebrow in amusement, she rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair by the desk. "Look, suck it up and take them."

A little fascinated by her sudden kindness, I turned the packet upside-down and a large sketchbook, a box of paints, and a pack of brushes tumbled out. The bill peeked out as I emptied the things, but Lucy hastily grabbed that and pushed it in her jeans pocket.

If I wasn't such a manly ghost, I'd probably get emotional.

"No wonder you don't have any money," I said at last, running my fingers over the sketchbook. "Bagels and paints every other day." I'd been wanting to ask her something since yesterday, after my last visit to Piper's, but she'd distracted me with all this. I'd been thinking about it all day.

She stuck out her tongue at me, putting the bottle of wine down on the desk and moving over to the tiny in-built kitchen counter. "No wine-glasses here!" she called to me.

My eyes still hungrily feasting on the new paints, I threw back a vague response. "Drink straight from the bottle!"

She arrived a minute later with a disgusted expression on her face and two orange coffee mugs in her hands. "I'm _sophisticated_." She pointed out, getting back into her seat.

Pushing all my new stuff back inside their home, I sat down on the desk in front of her. I couldn't wipe of the sudden buoyant grin on my face. She hadn't changed her attitude towards me much in the last five days—but if nothing else, this box of paints seemed to say that she accepted me hanging, er haunting, around.

Or she probably didn't want to castrate me with her mediator powers anymore. You never know with women.

"Hence the snoring." I chuckled as she gave me one of her usual glares.

"Be nice. I just wasted a lot of money on you, dead guy."

Still smiling a bit, I reached forward and made to uncork the bottle. "Thank you, Lucy."

She looked up at me as I examined the wine, silent for a second, after which she muttered back a quiet welcome.

"God." I uncorked it, feeling a little awed. "Where'd you get _this_ from?"

Lucy smirked. "Igneel had a little party downstairs. I kind of, sort of, nicked a bottle."

"You're diabolical." I laughed, giving her a look of approval. And here I was thinking only 16th Century ghosts stole the good stuff.

"Not really." She pushed the two mugs forward. "Cana Alberona was going to die drinking, so I actually helped save her life by keeping _one_ bottle out of her reach."

I didn't know or care who Cana Alberona was. No, I was more intent on staring, aghast, at the two orange coffee mugs.

"Lucy," I said slowly. "Those are not wine glasses."

"Speak for yourself," she grumbled, grabbing the bottle from me and flipping back her open hair. "There _are_ no glasses back there. I'll have to ask Mr. B later."

She poured out the crimson liquid into the mugs, and though we both know I couldn't drink it no matter how fascinated I was by the quality, it seemed pretty legit.

Corking back the bottle, she took her one mug and held up the other one to me. I took it from her without hesitation.

"To wine in mugs and new paintbrushes," she toasted, and then she tipped the mug to her mouth, chugging it down faster than any bloke _I'd_ seen drinking at Piper's.

"To wine and new paintbrushes and blonde roommates," I echoed, grinning, after which I promptly pulled her hand down. "Looks like Cana Alberona won't be the only one getting drunk tonight," I warned.

But she'd done it. She'd set the mood. I was feeling absurdly happy, even though my day had been long and boring and way too thoughtful than I wanted it to be. Then Lucy walks in with a sketchbook and wine I can't drink, and I'm feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

She stared down at her mug for a while. "This is ridiculous," she commented. "This doesn't _feel_ right. Mugs and wine don't go together."

Then she started to laugh. I watched her, bemused, as she set her mug down and put a hand over her lips to stop, her eyes scrunching up and her shoulders heaving.

I put my own mug to my lips, but I felt nothing. As usual.

A little annoyed, I put it down on the desk. This happened every time; I deluded myself into thinking that I'd be able to eat and drink, and the second I put food to my mouth, I realized I couldn't taste even the smallest amount of it. As if ghostliness just sort of wore off after a while.

"Have I shown you the excellent view yet?" I asked Lucy, who was still frowning at her own drink. She shook her head in response.

I came down and threw open the window; sometimes, no matter how nice this place, I wished everything wasn't so attic sized.

"There." I gestured proudly.

Lucy got up and came forward, eyes wide. Like Mr. B had said, it was _pretty_ up here. You could see half of a glittering Magnolia from here; and we were almost neck to neck with the Kardia Cathedral, which towered over the town. The noise of people and cars and other restaurants wafted up, but Lucy looked pleased.

"I'd have been happier with a balcony," she said finally. "But this works too." Well, there _was_ the rooftop, but I had a feeling she wouldn't want to go anywhere right now.

I grinned down at her, which she didn't see, because she didn't return it. She went and made herself on my seat, but this time I wasn't going to complain. I mean, you _don't_ argue with people who buy you paint.

"So, all this new stuff," I pointed to the packet. "Is it Special Friday?"

She rolled her eyes at me. Then she took another swig and smirked against the mug. " _I_ want you to paint me a picture," she said.

I crossed my arms. "I figured there was an ulterior motive."

"Oh don't worry," she put an empty mug down. "No deadlines."

I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling it get messier than ever. It was something I did whenever I got a bit nervous, and to be honest, I wasn't sure if I was pushing my luck by asking her what I'd meaning to next.

"So, Lucy," I began. "Have you thought about your—well, your talents?"

She froze, looking suspicious. "You mean…all this mediator stuff?"

I nodded. "Don't you think you should start learning a bit about all this? I could help you, of course."

"What do you mean, _learning about this stuff_?" She sounded defensive. "I thought I told you, I don't care about this."

"But, you know," I said haltingly. "You don't have a choice; when one of us is ready, well, you'll have to do what you're supposed to at one point."

She looked at me with disbelief at this sudden turn of conversation. "Oh yeah? And who do you think is going to _train_ me into world's best mediator?" she said skeptically.

"Well, since we're doing some roommate bonding," I began. "Do you want to meet—ah, some of my friends?"

Oh no. Wrong words. Her face shut down, looking wary. "What friends?"

"Just some other—other people, like me," I said, faltering a bit. "They're in Piper's, and I thought—they could help?" Truth is, I wanted to show her the life outside this human place. But I was already losing her.

"Ghosts?" Her voice was dead calm.

"Yeah…" I sighed. "Alright, that was stupid. I'm sorry—I won't ask you again."

"Yes." She said firmly. "Yes, that _was_ stupid of you, Gray. If they know about me, it'll _not_ end nicely for me."

I'm sorry, what? She didn't know what a dangerous job she really had, did she?

"I've told you, I don't want to get caught up in all of this." She sounded angry now. Great job, Gray. Applause, please! "I don't want to have any contact with any of them." Lucy continued. "It's not like you do either," she pointed out.

But a sudden realization had hit me at her words, and I frowned down at her. "Don't you care?" I asked. "What happens to other people like me?"

Looking furious, she got down from the window place. "I would probably care about what happened to _you,"_ she said. "But why would I ever give a damn about other ghosts? I didn't sign up to be a mediator, you know."

"What happens to me is, or will, happen to the fifty other dead spirits in Magnolia, Lucy!" I cried out, thinking of Mavis and her mother. "Mediators are our—like our saviors, you get it?"

Alright, this wasn't the calm, interested conversation I'd been imagining.

"Don't talk about yourself like that," she snapped.

"But that's what I am, isn't it?" I could hear the hurt in my own voice. "I _am_ a ghost, right?"

She and I stared at each for a moment, and I could see the fury rising in her eyes and then falling back down. "They can find another mediator," she said at last, fuming a bit. Then she bunched up her hair in her fists for a second, as if trying not to tear them apart.

Her words stung; I didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it. I felt my own temper rise, a little of out control, and in the next second my mug fell from the table and crashed onto the floor, breaking neatly into two and spilling the wine.

Lucy couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped her as she looked at it.

See? _This_ , is exactly why we ghosts don't get too emotional.

"Oh, my God." She looked up at me. I felt shocked myself. "You didn't have to do that."

"No, it wasn't on purpose—" I started, but she was already walking away. Obviously; she wouldn't hang around to understand how things like this happened when we let out feelings run away with us, would she?

Wow. I'd ruined our night with one question. I shouldn't have brought it up at all.

Feeling angry at no one but myself at the moment, I called back to her without turning around. "Well, they could find one if they wanted to. There's another mediator in town, Heartfilia."

I glanced over my shoulder to see her halt in the middle of the room. Her hands were balled into tight fists. When she turned around, she looked terrified for a second, before she masked into her usual hard look. "And you just forgot to mention this?"

A little abashed, I turned to face her. "It's a small boy. I heard it at Piper's." I looked at her a bit pleadingly. "Lucy, you don't have to be so scared of it. I talked to Mavis—she's another ghost—she feels the rest of them can help you. Not all of them are nice, but a few—" I stopped rambling as she stared at me straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry for thinking I could trust you," she mumbled under her breath, and then she turned away, walking very quickly towards the bathroom.

Feeling like an idiot, I stepped over the broken pieces of the mug and wrenched open the door.

* * *

Mavis and I sat on the grass in the dark. Magnolia's cherry blossom park was deserted and unlit, but I never minded the dark anyway. The park was a large, sprawling place, and it was one of those places where I liked to lie down and stop worrying.

My friend was busy pulling up blades of grass. I'd pulled her out of the hotel a while ago; she'd been nice enough to come with me. "I told you not to rush it," she said in a stern voice. "Think about it Gray. Why will she want to see a hotel full of ghosts so soon?"

"I just—"

"She doesn't sound like much of a mediator to me," Mavis interrupted. "Let her figure out things for herself. Treat her like any other human."

"I do," I moaned against my hands that had my face buried in them. "But she's not just any human, is she? When you told me that it'd help her to try and understand us better—"

"I didn't mean drag her to us." Mavis looked exasperated. "Mediator or not, she's only human, Gray. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't want anything to do with ghosts anyway."

I raised my face from my hand, surprised. "She talks to me."

Mavis smiled a bit. "Like a person who's dead?"

"Like a friend." I sighed, suddenly remembering the terrified look on her face when I told her about the mediator kid in town. "She was actually laughing tonight, and I had to bring up this topic right away."

"Yes, well, you never had very good timing." Mavis looked at me endearingly.

We sat there in the dark for a while, and I stretched and lay down on the grass, looking up at the starless sky. It was almost the end of June, but it still didn't feel very warm because of the rain. People had their collars turned up on the streets against the wind.

"Quick ghost reference," I said to the sky, squinting at Mavis, who was now busy stringing six blades together. "Can't we ever change out of these clothes?"

She chuckled. "This is how we died, didn't we?"

I shook my head, using my arm as a pillow. "I definitely had a jacket on."

"Well, I don't think we can," Mavis answered my question. "It's like a part of us—though they did bury me in a rather nice dress, I don't know why I don't have _that_ one on." She gestured down at the dress she was always wearing. Her clothes always looked like they were stuck to her body, and shimmered.

I knew the reason for _that_. Mavis's death had been a terrible one. She'd drowned in a lake in Magnolia; a couple of children, 'friends' of hers had first dared her to do it, but when she'd refused they'd pushed her in.

I guess they realized the fact that Mavis couldn't swim a little too late.

At least, when her mother joined her a month later, the sadness of it aside, it was a reunion of sorts anyway.

"I need to get new shoes," I said lazily. "The legend says my sneakers were once white."

She laughed, pulling up some more grass now.

"Hey, Mavis," I said. "How do I apologize to Lucy?"

Mavis looked down at me. "She seems like a tough person to apologize to."

That was really encouraging. "Do you think _you_ could talk to her?" I asked suddenly, sitting up. But Mavis gave me a reproachful look.

"Gray, I think the farther she stays away from the rest of us, the better she'll feel."

"I think it's stupid," I muttered, and I did. "She needs to learn before it's too late for her."

"Yes, but that's not where you come in," Mavis said sagely, after which I thought for a while and then shrugged. She was always great at giving advice anyway.

"Yeah." I stared into the dark. "I guess you're right."

* * *

Let me just tell you before you jump to any conclusions; I don't generally break into people's houses and take their books.

Never did.

Fine, judge me.

There _are_ no libraries open at eleven at night, but that doesn't mean there aren't a couple of them in houses. (Yep, being unseen does have it perks.)

The Strauss's house was one which my ghostly granddad had shown me—rather proudly, which meant I probably wasn't the only dead guy going around nicking things from here. I remember coming here, frantically looking for anything that might help me understand what was going on; I'd been a desperate enough newly-dead to get my hands on a _book_ on this stuff.

Luckily for me, I knew the way after breaking in thrice. There were lights on upstairs, but the large library downstairs was dark and perfectly safe.

I peered closely, tracing the spines, searching for the familiar titles. I found it wedged between two other books on protective charms for houses—this was a pretty superstitious house.

 _The Bridge Between Life and Afterlife_. Sheesh. I used to write crap in my essays, but even I could write a better book title than this.

I flipped through the pages; I could've sworn I'd seen the word _guide_ somewhere. There was bunch of nonsense on how we ghosts liked to spend time peering down other people's necks and showed up in pictures, yadda, yadda, yadda. Finally, I reached the tiny paragraph on guides.

 _The guides are human beings who help spirits to go on. They can sense the presence of spirits and can help them to finish what they need to in the living world before they are gone. These guides are the human connection spirits need to leave this world._

As I read the last two lines, my breath caught in my throat.

 _These guides cannot shy away from helping spirits who are ready to go on. However, they can hurt a spirit if they are powerful enough; the guides are capable also, of exterminating a spirit who troubles the living, if they wish to._

Huh. I guess mediators _have_ the power to do away with us, if they're like super mad.

Wondering if I could take this back to Lucy, I turned the book over, reading the name of the author. Could it be possible, that he was a mediator too?

But when I opened it again to check, I found out he'd died twenty-two years ago. And I was also very sure that weren't any sort of people like Lucy or that other kid in our little community.

At that moment, there was the sound of footsteps and a woman walked in, switching on the light. She had long, silvery-white hair, but she was young. I hastily slid the book back in its place and hurried towards the front door.

The last thing I needed was for the Strauss family to see a book floating in midair.

* * *

Lucy didn't talk to me all of next day.

I'd cleared up the mess on the floor when I had snuck back in, and had also apologized to her many a manly stutter, but she hadn't even looked at me.

Down at Bell's Corner, she refused to acknowledge my presence, though the irritated looks she threw me as I sat there did raise the suspicions of her brunette friend, Cana. (Who, I was impressed to see, was perfectly dandy even after all that alcohol last night.)

Later in the afternoon, when she took a break from work, I grabbed her wrist and made to pull her outside. We both knew it'd look hilarious if she tried to protest, so she let herself be dragged out.

I went and sat down on the steps to our flat outside, and she stood there with her arms crossed, with an unfathomable expression.

"I'm not talking to you," she said after a second.

I smiled. "I can see that."

"I refuse to dignify that with a response."

I looked at the storminess in her eyes, and sighed. "I'm really sorry," I apologized for the third time. "I'm not supposed to be badgering you about mediator stuff, and I shouldn't have been so reckless last night. I'm sorry."

Without even a momentary pause, she came and sat down beside me on the step. "That's alright."

She smiled back at me, and just like that it was over. "Actually," she said. "I've given it a thought myself."

"You have?" I said, surprised.

She gave a quick nod of assent, looking down at her palms. "You were right," she said softly. "This isn't that normal—just a girl who can see ghosts, hanging around with one and living life." She laughed a bit. "I need to look at the bigger picture."

"Well, it's not a full time job," I said, grinning. "But I can totally help you out. We'll go eat ghoul ice cream together."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Does that exist?"

"No." I made a face, and she laughed. "Looks like I still have some stuff to learn, right?"

"Yeah, you do." I got up, stuffing my hands in my jeans pockets and winking at her. "So, how about we start our mediator lessons?" I held out a hand.

She considered me for a moment, ignoring the couple across the street who were staring at her laughing alone on the steps.

Then she shrugged. "Hey, whatever." And she grinned back, taking my hand.

* * *

 **I apologize for any mistakes, I didn't proofread it much. (I was so tired after writing all of this, I didn't feel like it :P)**

 **Anyway, please do review and tell me your thoughts. They'll really help. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter (and also dead tired, so forgive me for not proof-reading it well enough :P Sowwy?)**

 **Anyway, thanks to: Khryse, Lenaar, TheSpectrumWithinNalu, booklover1947, and moonsdream10 for following and favouriting the story. Thanks also, to lucyglitter11, for supporting me in all my stories. :)**

 **Hope you like this chapter (please do review a bit more and tell me your thoughts!)**

* * *

 **Five**

Lucy fidgeted nervously behind me, muttering incoherent words every once in a while.

"For the last time," I sighed, turned to face her. "Mavis is completely normal. You'll be fine."

"Normal, yes," she nodded, crossing her arms over the oversized grey T-shirt she was wearing. "Except for the tiny little fact that she's _dead_ of course."

"Who's dead?" A voice interrupted us, and I whirled around, grinning.

Mavis was standing in our usual spot in the park, looking a bit apprehensive herself. She was smiling too, and as she looked at Lucy, her eyes widened.

Lucy, however, was smartly gawking at Mavis. Picture of ease, that's her.

"You are, apparently," I told Mavis, trying to keep conversation light, but already regretting trying to get Lucy to start a mediator lesson, as we called it. "Did you know?"

Ignoring me, Mavis moved forward and towards Lucy. "Hello."

Lucy uncrossed her arms. "Mavis, right?"

Mavis nodded, grinning. "Heard a lot about you, Lucy." I promptly stepped on Mavis's foot, but not too hard, because she still _was_ a kid ghost. She glared at me, as did Lucy, which meant I now had _two_ glaring females wishing me to leave. Lucky me, eh?

"Let's start out," Mavis said, looking like she was trying not to smile. The June sun was hitting me squarely in the eye and I moved to get a better view. "With a handshake."

A little offended, Lucy stuck out her hand immediately. "I can do that," she frowned. "It's not like I haven't touched Gray before."

Ladies and gentleghosts, I refuse to explain in detail the awkward silence of realization that followed Lucy's words, and our hasty, mortified coughs before a normal conversation resumed again.

As Mavis held Lucy's hand, nothing really happened. But Mavis looked shocked despite knowing Lucy was a mediator. "Oh God," she closed her eyes, and I realized that she too was as shocked at feeling a human as I had been. "I can feel your blood."

Creepy talk, stage one. Lucy turned a shade paler. "Alright," she mumbled. "Brilliant. I can't feel yours." I struggled to maintain a straight face.

Looking intrigued now, Mavis leaned forward. We were in the shade of a large cherry blossom tree, hidden from the sight of most people, because even I'd been sympathetic enough to understand how stupid it would've looked for Lucy to stand around talking to air.

"What _can_ you feel?" she asked, still holding hands.

Lucy cleared her throat, scrunching her face up in concentration. I averted my eyes quickly as I thought how cute she looked when she did that. "You're—what's your body temperature?"

Laughing, Mavis said, "Cold. Always cold."

"I don't feel it," Lucy said, looking like she'd guessed it. "You're not cold at all. You're like me."

Mavis and I exchanged a quick look, before Lucy drew back her hand and turned to me. "What you told me the other day," she said. "About _guides_ being able to—hurt spirits. Is that true?"

"It's true," Mavis answered instead. "I've heard of it happen."

"Is it willpower?" Without waiting for a response, Lucy took my hand this time, and I resisted the sudden jump in my stomach as she did. Nervousness?

She held my right hand limply, and then shook her head after a minute. "It's not working."

Mavis bit her lip. "Gray," she said. "Annoy her."

Oh it's a full time job, I thought, and judging from Lucy's face, she did too. But I was an expert, and experts don't just do what they're supposed to on _command_. I needed proper timing; annoying was an art.

"Why?" Lucy asked.

"I believe," Mavis said slowly. "That—pardon me—if you're as inexperienced as I think you are, you need some strong emotion to trigger you."

"Trigger me?"

"It happens to us," Mavis continued. "If we feel too angry, or too excited, things can get out of control. I broke Hot Eye's stereo once," she added to me, but I was glancing triumphantly at Lucy. She seemed to have realized the reason behind the presence of only one of two orange coffee mugs in our room. "If we're like humans to you, maybe it's the same for you."

"Fine." Lucy sighed, closing her eyes. Remembering something. Nothing happened.

"Are we going to just wait aro—"

I was cut off with a gasp. My own. I wrenched my hand back; I'd just felt a shock like an electric jolt, travel from my fingertips all the way up to my chest. And damn had it stung. My unbeating heart felt like it had _almost_ been lurched out of my chest.

"What the fu—"

"It works!" Mavis interrupted, and Lucy gave her a sudden, surprised look. "Nice work."

"Hello?" I called. "Injured person here."

"Oh don't be an idiot," Mavis muttered, punching me in the other arm for good measure. Lucy grinned up apologetically at me.

"Sorry." She smirked and I knew, and didn't mind, the fact that she was the least sorry person here.

"I don't think I like mediators anymore," I announced. Mavis and Lucy gave me another look, and it looked so similar on both their faces, I cleared my throat a bit nervously and dropped my gaze; I'm not sure whether all members of the female species possess this look, but I do know that when they give you the exasperated half-glare, you're expected to shut up.

Mavis fingered her long hair, staring at Lucy curiously. "Lucy," she said suddenly. "Are you sure you've never tried channeling your powers before?"

Lucy shook her head. "I never thought of it as powers. Ever since that incident with the woman at our old house," she suppressed a delicate shudder. "I pushed the whole thing out of my mind."

"And—and do you think Gray's the second other ghost you ever saw?"

I think all three of us knew the answer to that. I wasn't the only dead spirit floating around here. My roommate shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable again. "I'm sure that's not possible," she said. "But he's the first one to have realized I could see ghosts, right? Otherwise, I would've known sooner."

"Do you want to meet the other mediator?" Mavis threw the question casually, as if asking for a weather forecast. I was surprised myself, but no more than Lucy; her face paled slightly.

"Do I have to?"

Mavis smiled. "If you want to."

They stared at each other for a while. The sunlight brightened, hitting Mavis in the face this time—we couldn't exactly feel the heat, but it could annoy us a bit, just like any other person with the sun in their eye. That was probably why I couldn't see her eyes dim in disappointment when Lucy shook her head.

"Not—not right now," she stammered. She rubbed her nose, a gesture I'd seen her do whenever she was a bit embarrassed or unsure. "I don't think I need to, really."

"Whatever you want." Mavis gave her one last fleeting grin, and then turned to me. "I need to get back—Zeref has been making a big deal about me disappearing every other day recently."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. Zeref?"

Mavis couldn't exactly blush, but a bit of colour rose to her cheeks as she coughed and crossed her arms. "He's lonely—I've been spending some time with him."

"He was a bit of a prat when he was alive, that guy," I said. Mavis had grown on me over the last few years, and she almost like a younger sister with much better advice than most other older blokes at Piper's. It wasn't like I hadn't noticed that Zeref, who died choking on a bit of food, fancied Mavis. And I didn't exactly like it.

Personally, I feel even dead people should have a bit of class. Zeref? Psh.

"Well, he's very nice now," Mavis defended, looking a bit pinker. "I've got to go now, Gray," she interrupted, before I could open my mouth to retort. "Catch you later. And you," she added to a confused Lucy.

As Mavis walked away into the sunlight, Lucy turned to me. "Who's Zeref?" she asked.

"A git."

* * *

Lucy and I were sitting on the stone ledge by the river. It was windy here; the river was gleaming. The best part was that there was hardly anyone around, so a blonde girl sitting alone and talking animatedly wouldn't arise many suspicions. (I know, considerate me, huh?)

I was leaning back on my hands. "So, you like Mavis, right?"

She nodded, taking another bite of the doughnut she'd bought along the way from the park to this quiet spot. I'd offered to simply nick it for her instead, but she'd declined it with one of her dirtiest glares yet.

What? It's a doughnut. It's not really proper thievery. Besides, I'm a ghost; I have a license to do it.

"She's nice," she hedged, not saying too much. Before I could drop it, she turned to face me and asked, "Gray," she started, and I felt unexpectedly pleased at hearing her use my name. "D'you mind if I ask you something?"

"Fire away, human."

She quelled me with a look, and then continued. "So—how did Mavis die?"

It seemed almost every important question she asked me had to do with the ways we died. But then, she did have the right to want to know. I briefly described what had happened to Mavis, as if the faster I said, the easier it was to let it go quickly.

Lucy had the doughnut in a death-grip in her hands as she listened, and noticing her face fill with a rage she didn't need to share, I plucked the doughnut out of her hands. You know, before it suffered serious sugar damage.

"That's…terrible," she mumbled, looking at the chocolate that had gone under her fingernails. "I wish I hadn't asked," she finished.

I felt my gaze on hers soften. "You couldn't know."

She bit her lip and started to laugh a bit. When I frowned at her, she said, "It's just so weird, you know? Asking stuff like this." She raised her deep brown eyes to mine, and I knew she understood more than she was letting on.

"Well, you're not exactly normal yourself." I winked at her, giving her doughnut back to her. "So, will you ever tell me anything about yourself?"

Sighing and glancing at a girl staring at her from opposite the street, she turned back to me. "What do you want to know? My favourite colour?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Actually," I said. "That's not a bad idea. Half the people in this world don't know their best friend's favourite colour, did you know?"

Lucy pushed the last of the doughnut into her mouth and stretched like a cat, looking skeptical. "Really now?" She drawled. "Best friends, are we now?"

"Oh shut up," I muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'll go first. Mine's—"

"Grey?" She grinned.

"Haha." I stuck out my tongue maturely at her, but that just made her giggle gleefully. "It's silver."

"Mine's blue, if you must know," Lucy said, turning to face the river. She cast a sidelong glance at me. "You have a weird name." She frowned and cast one last look at the girl on the other side, who was gawking at Lucy now.

"Excuse me?"

She shrugged, and as she turned to me, the corners of her lips twitched. "Why 'Gray'?"

"Well, tell me which colour _you'd_ prefer and I'll make arrangements," I said, rolling my eyes. She laughed at that, which made me feel a bit proud of myself; I considered it as a personal score to get her to crack a smile.

After a moment, she said, "Anything else, best friend?"

Feeling a bit awkward at her new teasing, I ran my hand through my hair. "How about I fire, and you answer?" She nodded her assent and I asked my first question, feeling a little bit like I was interrogating her. "How would you best spend your time?"

She answered without hesitation. "Travelling. Writing." She grinned. "Eating my arse off."

"Touché," I said, nodding in approval. "Best gift possible?"

"My own book, published."

"Deep, dark secret?"

"I once gave our cat some fish-food instead," Lucy said solemnly. "Just arrest me already."

Noticing how she didn't answer the question, I laughed anyway. "How do you like your music?"

"90's, all over my playlists."

"Do you fancy anyone?"

Lucy smirked, getting to her feet. "You dwell too deep, Fullbuster," she said. "As if I'm answering that."

Snorting, I got up too. I hadn't asked her anything she'd absolutely refuse to answer, something like about her family or her life before Magnolia or her school. But then, this was a non-violent start to getting know Lucy Heartfilia.

* * *

"What do you mean you're going out?" I stared at Lucy. She was standing in the middle of the room, clasping a bracelet on and searching for her purse.

She raised her eyebrows. I was lounging on the bed, playing with another one of Lucy's breakfast paper bags. (Yes, I'm a legal adult ghost, and yes, I spent time playing with paper bags. Judge me.)

"Um, I do have a life outside this place, you know," she said.

As she said the words, the whole reality hit me like a truck. I'd been so ecstatic at having a person around to talk to like this, talk about normal stuff and not always be flanked by the idiots from Piper's, I'd kind of taken Lucy for granted. I'd figured her to be my human friend, either staying up here with me or working downstairs; the fact that she _did_ have actual friends and a life outside never occurred to me.

"Well—where are you going?" As I spoke, I heard a bit of the desperation in my voice, and hated myself for it. I couldn't get this attached to having human interaction again—it wouldn't change the fact that I _was_ kind of a bit dead. No one said it didn't come with a bit of loneliness. I'd just got used to Lucy by now.

Lucy put the bracelet in place at last and checked herself in the cabinet mirror. In my opinion, she looked very pretty; she had her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a simple white dress. I liked how she pulled off simple so well. "Downtown, at a café," she replied, brushing her hair once. "I'm meeting some friends."

"Can I come?" As I asked the words, I realized how stupid they sounded.

She glanced at me, looking a bit curious. "Gray, I—" she broke off, and changed direction. "Don't you—don't you have some friends too, like Mavis or…" she faltered.

I thought of Hot Eye, Zeref and my ghostly grandfather. "Yeah." I tossed the paper bag into the bin. "Yeah you're right, I do." I got up, feeling a bit bitter and disliking myself at the same time for feeling it. I picked up her purse from the bedside table and tossed it to her. "Here."

She caught it, still looking a little worried. Then she sighed, brushing it off and forced a smile. "Go eat some ghoul ice-cream," she said, as she walked towards the door. "You're way too gloomy, even for a ghost."

The grin I returned her lied for me. "See you." It was almost six in the evening, and even though Bells Corner was open on the weekends, Igneel made sure each of his workers got at least two days off, whenever those days were, as long as they were not all together.

As she walked out of the door, I called behind her. "Hey—what's the occasion?"

"Pre-birthday celebration," she yelled back, and the door swung shut.

* * *

Despite the glaring sunshine of the afternoon, the night air was chilly and carried a light drizzle with it. As I walked along the streets, I stared absent-mindedly at the shops past me.

Magnolia was a small town, but a pretty one; downtown was the best, because of the rows of tiny, cramped up cafes and pizzerias and shops. The houses were old-fashioned, most of them, except for the few large office buildings, and the Kardia Cathedral towered over us all, a glint of silver and emerald against the cloudy sky.

But though I reached the centre of the town, I wasn't looking for shops or cafes or even Lucy, despite my burning curiousity to catch a glimpse of her life. As I reached the promenade running the length of the place, I turned left and towards the Kardia Cathedral instead.

The place was almost always quiet and deserted, a bit cut off from the rest of the bubbling Magnolia. The streets too were grey and the rain started to fall a bit harder as I walked. Obviously, me being the great accomplished ghost I am, I still hadn't learnt how to appear where I wanted to by preferably not losing a limb. So, you know, I walked. (Old school, that's me.)

I reached the cemetery gate, just behind the Kardia Cathedral. I'd left all the lights and noise behind me. Pushing the cold iron, I entered. I knew it was cold, because it chilled even my skin.

I walked past the graves; some of them had fresh flowers on them and most others had moss growing over the headstones. Some of them were familiar names; the others were half-hidden.

But I knew my way. I wound my way through the overgrown weeds and past the unknown stones to the grave right below a withered tree. As I reached it, I slowed down, until I was standing directly in front of it, staring at it.

The rain struck up its rhythm and I could feel it on my shoulders now. Glancing behind me once, though it wouldn't really matter unless one of my ghost pals also decided to stroll around here, I knelt down in front of my own grave.

The rainwater slowly washed away the little dirt that caked the black, smooth headstone, where my full name was engraved in silver letters. I'd come here the same time every year, the day I died, but sometimes I ended up here when I was tired of being what I was all the time. Never really had great tolerance.

Right now, I was feeling completely stuck in an invisible box. Coming here, I could at least blame it all on this harmless piece of land.

"Couldn't you just wing it out and stay alive?" I muttered angrily at my grave. "Moron."

But everything was silent, except for the pounding of rain, and I fell shut too. I stayed there and gazed at my headstone; the rain washed over it some more and the glassy black surface now showed nothing but my own deep blue eyes staring back at me.

* * *

 **Well? How was it? :D I'll be posting the next one coming weekend, probably. See you till then. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm back! Thank you all for the positive feedback :) And thanks again, to: Iroshiya-chan, JulieTelrats7380, awkwardxconfused, blushiemage, ksw906, kurochan94, Strawberry Cake is Life and unicornpotatopowers for following and favouriting this story.**

 **Hope you like this chapter :) Please do review and tell me your thoughts! :)**

* * *

 **Six**

I was momentarily frozen in shock for a second when I returned home.

Just by the way, I don't generally _like_ shocks.

Having aimlessly wandered around the town and let off some ghostly steam, I'd decided to just return to our flat after a few hours. I'd expected an empty room, and distinctly remember having forgotten to turn the lights off.

Instead, I stepped into a dark flat. Then I heard the soft gasps coming from the bed, and felt my post-alive limbs rooting themselves to the spot.

And after that, I stood there trying to understand why of all people in Magnolia, it was Lucy Heartfilia who was sitting huddled in a room with her face buried in her hands.

When I flipped the lights on, her head snapped up. Then she saw me, and let her head fall limply in one hand. Her hair looked windblown and small strands fell over her eyes.

"Lucy?" It felt wrong _not_ to whisper. "Lucy, what's wrong?"

"Go away, Gray," she moaned into her hands.

Right. Of course it's suddenly all my fault. Pardon me, but I'd like a bit of justice in all of this.

Sighing, and thoroughly confused—I'd hardly ever seen a weak side to Lucy, despite only knowing her for less than a month—I approached her slowly. Finally I was standing right in front of her. "Hey," I said, a little more firmly, sinking down onto the floor next to her. "What happened? Are you okay?"

It was when she finally looked up at me that I realized she wasn't crying, like I'd thought her to be. She didn't look hurt either, but her pale face looked like she was recovering from something terrible at a very slow pace. "No," she said at last, glancing nervously at the door, much to my bewilderment. "No, I'm not."

"Well, what hap—"

"Oh, would you stop asking me that!" she snapped, making me withdraw the hand I'd been about to place on her shoulder. I frowned, irritated.

"It's not like you're _telling_ why you're sitting here all alone in the dark and—"

"I messed up, okay?" Lucy finally removed her hand from her face and sat up, crossing her arms around herself so tightly, I was doubtful she'd ever actually be unwind them. "I was scared. And you're not supposed to see this."

Feeling very much side-tracked, I asked her, "Look, can I help? Whatever it is, maybe if you talked about it it'd be—"

"You remember that girl, by the river?" She interrupted, her terrified brown eyes holding onto mine with a fierce intensity in her gaze that made me feel like I'd drown in them with no one to save me. "The one who was staring at us?"

Despite some dubious measures of attention spans I sometimes seem to have, I did remember that kid from an afternoon a million years ago. "What about her?"

"She's not alive," Lucy said bluntly and quickly, but her voice still shook. Realizing what must have happened, I gestured for her to go on. "She—Her name's Wendy."

I'm sorry, but exactly how many ghosts were going around being chummy with Lucy? "She told you her name?" I asked incredulously. If word spread, it'd be seconds before Hot Eye turned up to ask Lucy out on a date.

Averting her gaze, Lucy nodded. "Mira—my friend—and I, we were returning together," she said shakily. "And when Mira turned to call a cab, this girl, Wendy, she just…seemed to appear all of a sudden."

Lucy looked like she was trying very hard to calm down, and I couldn't understand why. Even if she'd used her mediator powers properly a second time, why was she so frightened?

"She dragged me to the side, and it was like she thought I _knew_ something about her, or that I—"

"That you could help her," I said quietly, and Lucy nodded. "What happened then?"

Taking another deep breath, she continued. "She kept talking to me, and when I finally realized what was going on—well, I panicked. Wendy, she took my hand and gripped it, and…" She faltered.

I frowned, leaning closer, until my face was inches from hers. "And what?" I said, a little more sharply than I intended. Lucy winced.

"I could feel the pull coming," she said in a low voice. "And I kind of—I just wrenched my hand away from hers and I ran off…" Lucy looked miserable as she stared down at her knees. "I don't know whether Wendy was angry, I wasn't sure what to do at all…"

There a moment of silence that stretched for several years, until I sighed. "Lucy," I started, but she cut across me again.

"D'you think she'll come after me?" Her voice was a whisper. I finally understood the terror in her face when I first walked in. I knew what she was thinking—that she had behaved like a coward, but it was the embarrassment and regret in her eyes that made it clear that she wasn't one at all. The fact that she'd rushed back home and had stayed here thinking of random spirits floating after her—

"You have to understand," I said, choosing my words carefully. "That she just wanted your help to move on. You're her guide. There's no question of her hunting you down—you don't have to cut yourself up about this."

Thoroughly unconvinced, Lucy nodded. She rubbed a hand over her face, and though it was a little odd for me to spend more than five seconds in her vicinity without her glaring at me, I wasn't going to be holding her out for a thing like this.

As I began to wonder how late it was, I felt something touch my shoulder. Being stuck in the _second_ befuddled shock in one night, I looked down to see Lucy resting her forehead against my shoulder. Her hair fell like a shield over her face, hiding it from me.

"I suck at being a mediator," she mumbled against my shoulder.

Trying to ignore the inexplicable jolt in my stomach, I cleared my throat smartly before I spoke. "D'you want me to say you don't?" To be honest, _being_ a mediator sucked.

She didn't move. "No, be mean."

"Okay," I said, feeling a bit strange at insulting her on command and not lightly teasing instead. "You're absolutely terrible at being a mediator."

I felt her sigh. "Thanks."

"Did that help?"

"Loads," she mumbled. Her breathing grew steady and when I looked down next, she wasn't stirring at all. Stepping on dangerous waters—you never know _when_ she decides she wants to castrate me—I pushed back her hair to see her eyes closed.

Still amazed at how I could carry a human, mediator or not, I easily lifted her up and dumped her on the bed. She didn't wake up. Shaking my head from the messed up night that it had been, I sat on the edge of the bed near her feet, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling.

Lucy started to snore, and I suppressed a smile.

* * *

Remember how I said I don't exactly ever sleep?

Yeah well, it turns out even ghosts get pretty tired. I'm pretty sure I dozed off a little after I was done pointlessly staring at the whole room, because I was most definitely _woken up_ with a punch to the arm.

My eyes flew open suddenly, and I was feeling a bit disoriented, until I noticed Lucy sitting up in bed and looking at me.

"Um," I said.

She was no longer wearing the dress I'd last seen her in. She had jeans on, and a quarter-sleeved black shirt, the first two buttons left open to expose her throat. Her hands were clasped on her crossed legs.

Well, at least someone looked like they hadn't been forced out of a peaceful slumber.

"What time is it?" I said groggily—Mavis never told me I could actually fall asleep. Or at least be unconscious to the world for a while. I raised my head from the wall, knowing that if I'd been alive, I'd probably have ended up with a neck cramp. Ghoul School Rule number one, we ghosts don't get cramps.

Don't ask.

"Midnight," Lucy replied, her eyes shining. She definitely wasn't the Lucy Heartfilia from two hours ago.

"And what are you doing up at midnight?" I asked politely. We'd had our heart-to-ghost conversation at around eight, but I could guess that she'd probably been tired then, and now was back with a lot more energy than really necessary.

" _We,_ " she said, getting up and slipping her boots on. "That is to say you and I, are going out."

I stared blankly at her.

You cannot blame me. This was the same girl who'd been scared out of her wits and trembling in a corner of the room and asking to me insult her to make herself feel better.

"Human," I said gently, with the air of teaching a child the alphabet. "Where it is perfectly legit for us ghosts to wander the night streets, it's _ridiculous_ for a blonde girl to go prancing around at midnight."

Lucy frowned at me. Well, she was back, stubbornness and all. Normalcy and her was too much to ask for, I think.

"Dead person," she mimicked my tone. "I have some work to do, and I need you to come along in case I happen to burst into flames in the process."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Right."

"It's always possible."

"Go back to sleep, Heartfilia. Whatever it is you're up to, you can do it tomorrow."

She pouted bit, bottom lip jutting out with suspiciously convincing adorableness. "Please, Gray? It's important."

I shook my head. "No."

Lucy crept closer, looking a lot like a kicked puppy. "Please?" she breathed.

Dang it. "No," I said, averting my eyes from the devil."

She began to tear up. "Come on, Gray!"

Five minutes later she had locked the front door behind us and we were sneaking down the stairs in the dark.

 _This_ , is exactly why I say women are dangerous.

* * *

"So, do you plan on telling me what you want to do?" I asked Lucy as we walked, though I think I knew the answer. At least, I knew _her_ well enough to figure it out for myself.

"I'm going to help Wendy," she echoed my thoughts, pushing her hands into her jeans pockets.

On the way out, she'd bumped into Natsu Dragneel and his hair-gelled leather-jacket wearing brat of a friend. Natsu had obviously dawdled in locking up, because his friend looked impatient on his bike while he waited.

But I didn't need to urge Lucy on, because their surprised conversation lasted a whole of three minutes. Those three minutes of talking consisted mainly of a skeptical Natsu, some effortless lies on Lucy's part, and a few looks from ickle Dragneel's friend that made me want to punch him in the nose.

Magnolia was a sleepy town at night—very people were out on the streets. That would be good enough, in case Lucy _did_ burst into flames trying to squeeze out her mediator powers.

I mean, the ghosts would be framed, that's all. Just watching out for my invisible (though very much attractive) back too.

"And d'you know how you'll manage that?" I asked.

Lucy was chewing on her lip, the thing I did all the time. "Don't you ghosts have a Dead Hotline or something?" She muttered, and then laughed at my look. "I'm going to where I saw her first."

"By the river?" I said, surprised.

"Any other ideas?" Lucy's tone was full of sarcasm. She was speaking very quietly though, so that no one would really be able to hear her talking to nothing.

"Well," I started, glancing once at the empty street behind us. "Generally, the kids stay where they died," I said.

"Why do they?" Lucy looked up at me—she only came up to my shoulder, and it was fun to tower over people.

"Because they find it harder to take in, you know?" I looked at her. "They may wander off, but they always have too strong a connection with the place they died for their own good. They usually end up back there."

As I spoke, I heard the bitterness in my voice, and so did Lucy. After a second's pause, she said, "You sound like you're speaking from the experience itself." She raised her eyebrows at me. Even she knew I wasn't one to sit down and memorize dead rules. "But you were not a kid, when you—" she broke off.

"Yeah, you can say it," I said, staring at my feet as I walked. The subject of my death was still a sensitive topic between.

But she had stopped walking, and when I realized it, she was already two steps behind me. She was staring over her shoulder. "It's not that," she said under her breath. I walked closer, curious and confused at the same time. "Gray," she said sharply. "Do you think someone's following us?"

Following _her_. No one could see me.

Unless it was a ghost—

"Who's there?" I shouted. Lucy flinched, standing so close to me, but the only other thing that stirred was a half-open back door of an unused house. I reached forward and pushed it open; dark inside.

"Come on," I said, walking back taking Lucy's hand and leading her along. "I don't think there's anyone there."

It turned out that Lucy had had good instincts. It was not like we knew anything about the child anyway, to solve any riddles about her whereabouts. But she turned out be where we'd first seen her.

When we reached the street running alongside the river, I didn't need to try and speed dial this girl—she was standing beside the water and her eyes were for Lucy only, when she heard us approach. Lucy took a deep breath and went forwards; the girl did not move, but stared at her, her hands balled into tight fists. She looked like she had been standing there for a long time, and was a slight figure against the moonlight.

"You." Her voice was soft, angry. I stayed in the shadows, trying not to be too conspicuous right then (I know, it _was_ difficult, what with me and my ghostly good looks). I saw Lucy shiver a bit and then walk forward anyway.

"Me," Lucy agreed, feigning a lot more confidence than I knew she was feeling. "I'm sorry, about earlier."

The two girls faced each other, neither moving a muscle. The younger one, Wendy, looked no more than thirteen or fourteen. She had long, midnight-blue hair and a small, pale face. Her large eyes glared at Lucy. Forgiving nature, I take it.

"I panicked," Lucy continued, trying to explain. "I'm not—I'm not used to…all of this. I was scared and I—"

"You were scared?" Wendy's voice was cold and forbidding. "Do you know how scary _dying_ is? Do you know what it feels like when you feel your life slipping out with each second and what it feels like to be stuck here, alone and not knowing what to—"

"Hey!" I moved forward, next to Lucy, whose face was paper white. "Hold that tongue, kid."

Wendy seemed to have realized what she'd been saying, and stopped herself with a huge breath. Then she looked at me, and I could almost see the question burning on her lips before it fell. "Are you dead too?"

Fuming a bit, I nodded.

"And—she refused to help you too?" Wendy pointed at Lucy, who opened her mouth to retort, but I beat her to the punch.

"No," I said. I bent down, hands resting on my knees. "I was not ready yet. Not like you are."

Lucy knelt down on the ground, so that she was almost level with Wendy's face, that was starting to lose a bit of her previous fury. "I'm here now," she said calmly. "Take my hand. I can help you."

Wendy stared her straight in the eye, unsure, and then extended a shaking hand. "You will?" she said, and I knew the whisper was for Lucy alone. I looked away, towards the water.

"Of course."

Wendy gripped Lucy's hands, and closed her eyes. In the next second, Lucy let out a gasp and the child breathed a sigh of relief at the exact same moment, before Wendy's blue hair began to fade into the night. Then the rest of her seemed to convulse, until Lucy took a loud, sharp intake of breath, and then Wendy was gone.

Lucy dropped her empty hands to the ground, retching a bit and looking exhausted. By the time I was trying to figure whether or not to help her up, she took a deep breath and then stood up herself.

She looked at me, and I smiled. "You did well."

"Do you think she's happy?" she asked me instead, throwing me off for a second.

I hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes. I think she is."

Lucy smiled back. "Then I guess I don't suck as a mediator."

My laugh was very loud compared to the hushed tones Lucy had to speak in, so as not to wake up her fellow humans around us. "We'll see." I smirked as she threw me a dark look and rolled her eyes. "Thank you for coming along anyway," she said after a minute, grinning.

When I simply stood there without replying, frozen to the spot for the _third_ freaking time that night, she stopped smiling. My eyes were over her shoulder, looking past her, and in my peripheral vision, I vaguely caught a glimpse of the worried expression on her face.

"Gray, what's—"

As I spoke, my voice ran out loud and clear. "Come out of there."

Lucy was beginning to very slowly move towards me, unsure of what to do. But I wasn't paying attention to her. "I said, _come out_!"

It was then that Lucy, who faced the direction I was staring at now, let out a short, angry gasp and raised her voice for the first time since coming out tonight. "Natsu!"

Ickle Dragneel? What was _he_ doing here?

Lucy's eyes were wide. "It's you," she said, walking without the slightest trace of fear towards the nearest big trashcan in front of a dark house. "I know it's you. Come out."

Pale and trembling and furious, Natsu Dragneel crept out from behind the trashcan. Of course; he couldn't see _or_ hear me—it wasn't someone dead after all.

Lucy, however, looked alarming. Her eyes filled with rage, she marched right up to the spoilt prat of a son Igneel had had the misfortune to produce and stared him dead in the eye. "What are you doing here?" she asked sharply. When Natsu stepped back a little, she grabbed his shirt and wrenched him forward. " _What_ ," she repeated. "Are you doing here, Natsu?"

Remind me never to cross the Heartfilia again.

Struggling to get away from her, Natsu answered Lucy with the kind of tone one would have when both frightened _and_ very mad. "I—heard you talking to yourself, as you were leaving," he said finally, choking a bit on the words. "Sting and I were just following you for fun, we even ducked into that disgusting house to keep tagging along; but then you…" He faltered.

Hiding her mortification pretty well, Lucy snarled, "Then _what_?" In a house near us, a light was switched on for a second, but it went off in nearly the next second. Lucy, however, seemed unbothered with the racket she was causing.

"Then you led us _here_ and Sting…he chickened out and went back, but I saw you talking to…to nothing!" Natsu's dark eyes were large and disbelieving. "I don't know why I kept watching, but I—what were you doing, kneeling down on the ground and holding out your hands?"

Lucy let go of his shirt, her face completely blank.

I'm not sure that's the best of signs, to be honest.

"Natsu," she said, and her voice was shaking. "Stop playing dumb. What _exactly_ did you see?"

They stared at each for a long, drawn out second. There was no sound but the slight wind rippling the river water. I was braced, ready to push Lucy out of the way in case Natsu tried to do something (and preferably hand him over to Hot Eye for breakfast, too).

Then Natsu spoke. "You walked all the way here. You kept talking. You knelt down and you smiled and you—you're telling me you were alone the whole time?"

I think both Lucy and I were realizing the seriousness of the situation. We were at a dead end. Either Natsu would talk daddy into shipping Lucy off to another country, or I could just try to kill him or something.

Lucy, I hoped, wouldn't choose the third option.

"What do you think? Was I?" I could almost hear her playing for time.

Natsu gave her a dark, considering look. "There's something very weird about you, Heartfilia," he said. "I'm not an idiot. Unless there's something wrong with you, then no, I _don't_ think you're alone." As he spoke, I could see the feeling that came with saying suspected words aloud in his eyes.

Lucy raised her arms. "Do you see anyone here with me?"

Ickle Dragneel didn't have the guts to look around him. "Stop it." He even sounded a bit terrified. "Tell me what's going on—or I'll—"

"Or what? You'll tell your father how you were out biking around with your friend in the middle of the night and saw me talking to air?" Her tone was both smug and skeptical.

Natsu, evidently at a loss for words, stood and fumed for a minute. "I'll find out what you're up to," he spat finally, looking robbed of a delicious opportunity. Well, he could be imagining everything starting from Lucy being a schizophrenic to her being part of an undercover gang trying to destroy every pizzeria in town, but he'd never _really_ know what was going on even if we did try to explain it to him.

Which, I mean, we wouldn't. The last human who needs to know there's a ghost floating around in his father's shop is Natsu Dragneel.

Lucy stared right back at him. "Good luck."

"You're weird," Natsu said again, but determined not to let Lucy have the lost word (or me the last punch), he walked away quickly, heading towards the main road back to his own house, I presume.

As soon as he left without a backwards glance, Lucy seemed to crumple. Her face lost its blank fury and sighing, she walked towards me, shoulders hunched.

I briefly considered putting an arm around them, to make her feel a bit better about the day as a whole, but decided against it. She'd probably already been half-asleep when she had put her head on my arm anyway.

"I—" I started, but she shook her head.

"Don't want to talk about it."

I grimaced. She began to walk in the opposite direction, choosing to take the longer but very much devoid of Natsu road back and leading the way. I jogged along beside her. "At least you got him pretty good, eh?" I attempted cheerfulness.

Lucy shrugged. "Some birthday," she muttered, and I am proud to say that I did _not_ stop in the middle of the street to realize with horror that it was _her_ pre-birthday celebration she'd been talking about.

"Um," I said.

She smiled up at me, obviously glorying in my discomfort for the moment. "Twenty today."

Yes. Every girl wants to spend the midnight of her twentieth birthday out on the streets helping ghosts to wiggle into the afterlife.

"Happy birthday?" I tried.

"Thank you."

Feeling annoyed at not being warned, I said, "You could have told me you know. I could've got you Zeref's head for a present."

She made a face. "You honestly didn't figure it out?"

I snorted. "I've known you for, what, two weeks? Was I _supposed_ to?"

Lucy grinned, and halted as we reached a bend in the road—one lead to the pizzeria, the other to the street to downtown. I figured she stopped because she still hadn't maneuvered her way around this part of the town much and didn't know which one to take.

"Which way?" she asked.

I pointed left. "Home."

* * *

 **That's a wrap! I apologize for any mistakes. Hope you guys liked it :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! I am really, really, sorry for not updating for so long. First I had writer's block and then exams came along real fast and I barely had time to breathe. Now I'm back though, and back with a new chapter! I've already started working on the next one. :)**

 **Thank you to the new reviewers, followers and favouriters of this story; ANG3LBL00M, Empress of Everything, Annis1, Emil C, skylightblaze, andreww428, Skychi, PsychopathKingdom, LOCKandK3Y, Epidantrix, Fairytaillover3101, and IcePrinceRay.**

 **I hope you like this chapter! And also, that it makes up me being temporarily dead. :P Please do review and let me know your thoughts or suggestions. :)**

* * *

 **Seven**

A bit of advice on trying to gift Lucy Heartfilia: Don't.

I didn't have any money with me (well, duh, I was dead and they didn't exactly push twenty bucks in my pocket when I snuffed it) and my roommate hated the idea of stealing. She didn't get the ghostly temperament, clearly.

So, I turned to the sketchbook and colours Lucy had bought me a few weeks back. You know, personal touch and all that.

Turns out, despite the fact Lucy couldn't draw herself, she didn't seem to have any problems with pointing out flaws in mine. Though I _was_ drawing for _her_.

"What _that_ supposed to be?"

It was around seven in the morning and while _she'd_ slept off after our long night, I'd darted to the papers and paint and tried to make a little something for her. I had been almost done with _two_ paintings, but she'd snickered at both, so sighing (and swearing) quite a lot, I'd fished for another paper.

That one, judging from her skeptical expression, was probably going to the Dumpster too.

"It's—the bridge in Magnolia," I said, frowning at her. The sunlight through the window behind me lit up her face.

"It looks kind of like a squidgy train wreck—"

"In all my years of living _and_ being perpetually dead," I interrupted loudly, crumpling up the paper and adding it to the other rejected ones on my lap. "I have never seen someone as mean as you, Lucy Heartfilia."

She stretched and yawned, clearly enjoying this. "I'm not mean," she said. "I'm just trying to figure out my birthday gift."

I gritted my teeth, but even as I displayed my lessening patience and increasing annoyance with her, I couldn't help but want to laugh a little. Sure, here she was demoralizing me completely and insulting my artistic skills, but in a way, I liked her blunt teasing and open ended honesty.

"I'd said I liked to paint," I said, reaching for another paper and setting my dirty brush down. "Not that I _was_ an excellent painter."

Lucy pouted, bunching up her sleep-mussed hair in her hands. She seemed to be in a ridiculously good mood. Which, yes, was strange enough for me to sneak up on her and check that she really was Lucy. "Well, that's what happens in the books and the movies, you see," she explained. "Someone says in a tragic voice what they're good at, and they turn out to be so exceptional at it that the _other_ main character swoons over their talent."

I snorted. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Ah, you're forgiven."

"You're impossible."

"And you're an idiot," she said, hands on hips. "Do you honestly think I care whether you paint me a Michelangelo or a squidgy train wreck? I was just teasing you."

And _I_ was trying to make it perfect for her. Generally in the books and movies she talked about, people didn't hover over other people as they sat down and tried to brainstorm them a birthday gift.

I help up one of my crumpled drawings, smoothening it out. "Like this then?"

She suppressed a smirk. "Hm…"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you even know _anything_ about art?"

"Couldn't paint to save my life," she said cheerfully.

"Then get out of here," I said, prodding her in the back. "And pretend it's a huge surprise when I give you something."

Before she turned away and I looked back down, we caught ourselves sharing half a grin.

* * *

"Well, it ain't no Zeref's head," I said. "But it's something."

I held out the large sheet of paper to her, fidgeting a bit as I did. It was late afternoon; even though Lucy had her day off, technically, she'd still gone down to work and ended up—I'm pretty sure—sitting around chatting with Cana Alberona.

She took the paper from me, faux astonished. "My God," she said. "Thank you, Gray! I can't believe you'd _paint_ me a picture. How sweet!" she gushed.

I resisted the urge to snort again. "Overacting," I said, but I was smiling too. At least she played along.

Lucy went and sat down on the bed, turning the paper over. She was staring at the picture, but I was staring at her, watching her eyes widen, her hands stiffen, her mouth part.

Dang it, I _knew_ it was going to be terrible.

She ran her fingers over the painting of a hand—I'd drawn my own hand, complete with our family heirloom ring—holding a brush and making a picture _within_ the picture, of a Lucy in the same white dress she'd worn a day before, her hair open and sunlight playing on it. The way I'd seen her a lot of times and marveled at how it would be great to put down on paper. I'd struggled a bit with her eyes, but I got them in the end.

When she looked up, her eyes were a bit moist.

Do not judge me, but I panicked.

"Please tell me you're crying tears of joy and stuff," I said quickly. I _never_ had a clue of what to do when someone started unscrewing their waterworks right in front of me. "I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not bad enough for your eyes to start smarting, but if you're like—"

She cut me off by leaping off the bed and throwing her arms around my neck.

I was so shocked, I lost my balance and we crashed to the floor. Stuck in an awkward sitting position, Lucy hugged me once, quick, and then released me.

"Sorry." She looked a bit mortified, as if she'd crossed some line by embracing me. It's not like I _minded_ —but it was strange, feeling a human body this close to mine, feeling the warmth mine didn't radiate. "I didn't mean to—anyway, thanks, Gray. Really. It's beautiful. So original."

She grabbed the picture and leaned back against the bed. I was still recovering from her attack. Her rather soft and warm attack, but one all the same.

Lucy's hand lingered on her image. "That's much prettier than what I actually look like," she accused.

"Lying's bad for your health," I told her. She grimaced. Then she kept it carefully under the framed photographs by the bed, and turned to me, brushing back her hair and trying to look a bit composed after her momentary lapse into insanity.

"So." She ran a hand through her hair. "Cana and I were talking—everyone wants to go out for lunch in an hour," she said. "You know, all of them want a break and since it's my birthday, _there's_ an occasion—"

"Oh." I stiffened and nodded, getting up. "Oh, that's brilliant. Have fun then."

"No, Gray—"

The last thing I wanted was for her to pity me and start apologizing. Well, understandable, no one would blame her for not wanting a ghost hovering around your pizza.

"Lucy, go ahead. I'm not asking you to let _me_ hang around this time," I tried for a laugh that suggested the whole idea of _actually_ asking her would be ridiculous.

Lucy got up too. "Gray, what I meant is—"

Without looking at her, I said, "It's _okay_ , Luce."

She grabbed my shoulders and all but yelled in my face. "I'm asking you to come along, you nitwit! I've been meaning to ask you since the second we started a conversation!"

My surprised eyes found her exasperated ones, and I felt a bit of hope rise in my stomach and flop around weakly. "You did?"

She glared at me. "And do not call me _Luce_."

I cleared my throat. "Fantastic. I'll wear my best suit."

At that, the corners of her lips twitched, until she was laughing loud enough for the both of us.

* * *

I knew what it was like to be a ghost. I hadn't spent the last three years mooching around in the apartment with the impression that I was a goldfish.

But I _had_ spent quite a lot of time mooching around after I realized a ghost had no place in the mortal world. That was a short while before I met Mavis. I'd realized that no matter what happened, no one would be able to see me or hear me. I'd also realized that I was like an imprint left behind—a wisp of a body without blood. (And yes, it was heartbreaking to realize that I couldn't eat a pizza ever again.)

Until Lucy pranced into my life—er, post-life—I begun to honestly believe that everything was back to normal.

Which, I now know, was a bad idea.

It _wasn't_ normal, as I tailed Lucy and her friends down the street, and eavesdropped on a conversation I couldn't join. Lucy couldn't exactly look at me either. I couldn't feel the July sun. I wasn't human and I really couldn't bring myself to accept that.

That really sucked. I'm telling you, don't die. It's so annoying.

"Gray!" Lucy's sharp whisper broke me out of my rather depressing reverie—I mean, I don't _do_ depressing—as she wove her way through the five or six other people with her and nudged me.

I looked down at her. She had her phone out and was fiddling with it, eyes down so that Cana, who was chattering away right beside her, wouldn't start thinking Lucy had finally gone bonkers.

"What?"

"You're going the wrong way." I could see Lucy's reflection in her phone screen, and I began to address Screen Lucy instead.

"I'm following you."

She glared at the screen. "No, you're spacing out. I thought you _wanted_ to come al—"

She was interrupted when Cana leaned down and looked at her suspiciously. "Dude," she said. "Are you talking to yourself again?"

A boy up front smirked down at the two of them. "She's just trying to practice how she'll ask me out."

Lucy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Right as always, Loke."

All of us ended at a large airy restaurant and the others grabbed seats on the lawn outside instead. There was a great deal of confusion about mocktails and cocktails, and after that was sorted, Cana brought up the enlightening topic of Igneel's left eyebrow which led to an outbreak of conversation at once.

I settled for trying to annoy Lucy and seated myself on their table. Obviously she couldn't see the person behind me. I snickered as she tried very hard not to yell.

"You guys didn't get me a chair," I told her defensively.

"Get. Off." She gritted her teeth.

I winked at her, standing up on the table instead and doing one of my classic club dancing moves. And by classic, I obviously mean the move that had involved quite a lot of girls throwing their drinks at me in the middle of the dance floor.

Lucy seemed to share the same female sentiment, because she gripped her mocktail and suggestively tilted it towards me. Her eyes smoldered dangerously. If I hadn't known better, I'd have taken for yet another woman helpless to my charms.

Laughing and I rolled off and settled for the grass instead. I looked at all of her friends, one by one, recognizing only a few of the six other people.

There was Cana, of course. Beside her was the cocky guy called Loke, who was busy ruffling his hair and trying hard to be noticed by Lucy. There was a younger girl sitting opposite him, with short silvery white hair and large blue eyes, who looked awfully familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Cana called her Lisanna. Next to her was a dark haired guy called Rogue, who was so quiet, I barely heard him wish Lucy at all as he passed her his gift.

The other two didn't work at Bell's. One was a muscular blonde, tattooed guy called Laxus, who seemed to be the main supplier of stupid jokes. I caught him stealing glances at Cana more than once. The girl beside him had long, blazing red hair. Lucy was calling her Erza.

I hung off and on their conversations, and eyed the plates of food as they came on their table. Lucy finished laughing about something with Lisanna, and when she looked up, our eyes met. I realized I'd been staring and kicked myself internally.

I froze for a second, knowing there was no reason for me to freeze. She raised an eyebrow and I grinned, relaxing.

After a while, I realized it was stupid for me to want to come along. Everyone was sitting there digging into their blasted plated of food and laughing and well, actually talking. No one could see me. Heck, I couldn't eat. Utter blasphemy I tell you.

I was staring around blankly, not really bothering to listen any longer. I felt a lot like a kid who'd begged to come along to a boring dinner party, only to realize there weren't any _kids my_ _ag_ e _._ Or in my case, _my world._

The restaurant door opened and three people walked out just as Laxus started to say, "So, we hid his underwear in the car see, and…"

His voice trailed off. I'd suddenly noticed the people coming out. It was a woman holding a small boy's hand, and the kid was staring at Lucy's large group as he followed his mother. Behind him was his bored looking brother, hands in pockets, shuffling along.

The younger sibling's eyes went through all of Lucy and her friends—but then they also stopped at me.

He looked at me for only a second, watching me sit on the lawn instead of a chair a bit curiously, and then turned and hurried along with his mom and brother. There was something wrong in that look. Mostly because he wasn't _supposed_ to look at me at all.

Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet and rushed after them, pausing at the exit only long enough to hear him say the words, "Mum, why was that man sitting on the ground?"

His mother turned around, her eyes going straight through me, and frowned. "Which man, honey?"

Mavis was right.

But not entirely. Because as the mother turned, so did the older brother, and his eyes found mine immediately. They narrowed, and then shifted.

The kid though, didn't look back as he answered. "It's okay. I saw him." He sounded like he was used to his mother not knowing what he was talking about, even if he knew it was true.

For a second, I dawdled. Then I shifted a little to look back over my shoulder. Even Rogue was laughing at Laxus's new story, and I could see a cake coming towards Lucy's table. She didn't need me around right now.

Lucy, however, was staring at me, frowning in confusion.

"I'll—be back!" I called.

She shook her head, about to mouth something, but I'd already bolted out.

It was hard to track the three down. I'd wasted a precious five seconds by hesitating, and now I was weaving my through the crowd of people downtown, half of them clutching gigantic shopping bags. I caught sight of the mother's red hair, which made it a bit easy for me to push the humans aside and run after them.

A laidback life, that's mine.

I also managed to almost trip over my own sneakers. I guess agility is another thing to be added to my list of ectoplasmic talents.

Finally, when we had crossed the messy place, I caught up with them. I stayed in the shadows, trailing them from a little far behind.

Because, from what I figured (or _knew_ ), that little boy wasn't the only other mediator in town.

I walked with them all the way to their house. The older boy and his mother were busy talking about school, but the younger kid was unusually quiet for a guy that young.

When they reached home, I waited for the mother to go in. The bright shock of red hair disappeared inside, and she was still tugging the kid along. But before the older guy could barely lift a foot off the porch, I grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

He let out a small gasp and whirled to yell at whoever had pulled him, and then recognized me. I must say, for a bloke staring down a ghost, he did seem pretty unbothered.

"Alzack?" His mom called from inside. "What are you doing?"

The boy, Alzack, didn't avert his gaze from mine as he called back, "Be there in a minute, Mom!" He had longish dark hair that fell over one of his eyes. It looked a lot like he spent an hour every morning making sure he looked carefully careless all day.

The door shut and I cleared my throat. Well, I dragged another human out who could see me, but no one told me what to do next! Rules, I tell you. No one. Explains. Them. _Ever_.

"What do you want?" Alzack said, his tone formal and cold.

"You could see me," I started. "Back at the restaurant, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Who are you?"

I frowned at him. "My name's Gray."

"Well, _Gray_." Alzack moved forward and jabbed a finger to my ghostly chest. "Let me make this clear. I don't care if you're another of one of those spirits trying to _move on_ and all, but if you are, me and my brother will _not_ be helping you."

A little taken aback, I knocked his hand away. "I'm not trying to," I said, feeling anger rise in the pit of my stomach. "I'm just—curious. I knew there was another media—"

" _Don't_ ," Alzack breathed. "Say that word."

"What, mediator? You are one, aren't you?" I was starting to _really_ dislike this guy. There had been something off about his lack of surprise at seeing someone his mother couldn't back at the restaurant too. It seemed like he knew exactly what was going on and couldn't care less.

He was looking furious. "No, I'm not." His tone was venomous. "And neither is my brother. Get this into your thick skull, _Gray_ ," he said, leaning forward. "We are _not_ going to help you. Or any of you—you people. I've said it a million times before, I'm saying it again. Now leave."

I stared at him, almost as coldly as he was looking at me. "Fine," I said coolly. "I'll leave. But I need to know something else."

He gritted his teeth. "What?"

"Your brother—does he know? What…what he is?"

Alzack tried, and failed, to stare me down. Finally, he gave a non-committable jerk of his head. "We play games where we see people and Mum doesn't." He turned before I could respond, already starting to walk back towards the house. "He doesn't need to know any time soon."

Then without a backwards glance, he slipped inside and slammed the door behind him.

Huh. Nice guy.

* * *

To phrase it simply, Lucy wasn't happy.

It couldn't have been more than half an hour for me to battle my way through half of Magnolia's population and have my little heartfelt chat with _another_ mediator who hates the idea of helping.

Though, I admit, I might have spent the teeniest amount of time standing around thinking about my last conversation, finally walking back, taking a detour to Piper's and finding Mavis to tell her, and then remembering that I had greater priorities.

Like, for instance, _not_ pissing off the blonde freak who lives with me.

When I made it back to where Lucy and the others were, I barely caught them. They'd already left and were half-way down the street when I ran after them and caught Lucy's arm.

"What?" she hissed, as she saw me. Her smile died away to be replaced by the familiar scowl the second she saw me. I noticed Loke, who'd apparently been in the middle of a conversation with her, stop and turn around. He looked triumphant, at having got Lucy alone at the back of the crowd to finally jabber to. I rolled my eyes and turned them back to Lucy.

"I have something to tell you," I whispered excitedly, though I had no reason to speak so low. "You think you can break away for a minute?"

She looked at me for a second, her eyes searching. "Okay," she said finally.

Lisanna had stopped too, looking over her shoulder. "Something wrong, Lucy?" she asked.

Lucy shook her head, smiling. "I think I forgot my wallet," she said smoothly. "You guys go on, I'll catch up."

The other girl nodded. "Meet you at the arcade."

As she turned and left, Loke following her, Lucy walked calmly the opposite way, before ducking into an alley. As I followed her in, she broke into speech first. "Where did you run off to?"

"I didn't _run off_ ," I said, which was utter rubbish. I technically did. "I was following those people."

Lucy crossed her arms. "Where are you going with this, Gray?"

I fisted one of my hands into the other. "Remember that little boy I told you about? The _other_ , you know, guide?"

Something about Lucy's posture changed. She lost the slightly eager look in her eyes and stood up straighter, her lips turning down a tad bit at the corners. "So?"

"So," I continued tentatively. "He has a brother. A git, that one, but he's like you. A mediator."

Lucy's eyes were turning a shade darker and I was suddenly regretting all death decisions at the moment. "So?" she repeated.

A little annoyed she wasn't surprised enough at the news, I said, "See, I don't think the kid knows about his own gifts. Like you! And his brother, he seems—"

"God, Gray," Lucy said, and I shut up as the words left her mouth. "You're so irritating." Her eyes closed for a brief second in annoyance.

Thrown completely off track, I responded with a manly stammer. "W- _what_?" My previous excitement at my discovery was ebbing. Maybe it was important to _me_. Not to her.

A little late to realize _that_ , Fullbuster.

"Gray, if you wanted to ruin my birthday by dragging me off to talk about this _mediator_ stuff again, couldn't you have told me that before you asked to come along? I don't _want_ to talk about this same depressing topic all the time, you know!"

Startled, I opened my mouth and closed it again. Lucy looked frustrated. _Ruin her birthday?_

My own temper began to rise. "Well— _you_ were the one who begged me to come!" I protested, deciding to ignore the last part of her sentence. I detested admitting to myself that it was, somehow, really my fault.

A muscle jumped in her jaw. "As if you didn't want to come yourself," she snapped. Then she threw up her hands and groaned. "You know what? Go running after new mediators and annoy _them_ instead. Give me a break."

"Wow," I said, finally finding my inner retaliating voice. "That's really nice of you, Lucy. I _annoy_ you, of course."

She looked at me. Her eyes bore into mine. "You know that's not what I really mean," she said quietly.

"Sure." I didn't bother to keep my voice low. After all, who could hear me? "Sure you didn't mean it, Luce!"

"I told you not to call me that."

Oh yes, and I'm the annoying pet, so I should _really_ listen to the mistress. "Another crime down my list, isn't it?" I muttered darkly. "Anyway, humans and ghosts don't get along. Haven't you heard, _Heartfilia_?"

For a second, Lucy looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. " _Mediators,_ " she said finally, in a tone that suggested it was the dirtiest of words. "That's the only thing you're interested in, isn't it?"

Yes, and that's why I prefer hanging around _you,_ Lucy Heartfilia, when everyone else like me haunts the Piper and actually feels like they have something worthwhile to stay in this world like this for. "Well you sure as hell aren't trying hard to be found interesting at all," I retorted, before I could stop myself. "So yes, you know? That's what you want to hear right?"

She and I stared at each other for a long second.

"Just stay away from me," she spat out at last, throwing me one last look before she turned one her heel and went out onto the street.

I stared after her, not sure whether to be mad at her or myself. I stood for a vey long time, fuming, and by the time the sun started to sink low, cool regret was seeping in.

But by then, all I could think of was the look on Lucy's face. And I wished I'd never see it again.

* * *

 **Phew!**

 **Tell me whether you liked it, loved it or wanted to throw your phone at the wall reading it ;) Do review!**

 **P.S. Is anyone else tripping over Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift? Because I am.**

 **Enough rambling. Till next chapter! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry for a late update. I had a bad week, and last weekend was basically me lying in bed with 102 fever and a lovely cold. Sob stories aside, I'm better now, and to make up, I've written a longer chapter *drumrolls* ;)**

 **It may be a little too long, but it has a lot of parts that are important to the story, so I hope you'll read through all of it. I broke it up thought :)**

 **Massive thank you to the new reviewers, followers and favouriters; Sugarcube, Akari Grey, Crux Change, Erika Elencia, JazTurtle, Nyx'sBlackRose and StormyKnight39.**

 **I hope you like this chapter. Please do review! There are some cool kids who are always reviewing, and I'm really grateful to you guys, thank you. But I'd be really happy if some of you other readers would also tell me your thoughts. :)**

* * *

 **Eight**

Lucy was gone.

Our flat was quite empty when I stepped in. It was almost midnight—I'd spent the last hour fuming by the river—and she still wasn't back.

At first, I felt guilty. She probably didn't come back because she didn't want to see me. Then I saw the painting I'd made for her lying on the floor. The gusts of wind coming in through the open window had blown it upside down on the ground.

And then I was angry.

"Screw her," I said aloud to the empty room, before slowly making my way over my usual spot by the window. I looked at the ceiling, leaning back.

It seemed to me, that most of my time with Lucy was spent bickering and arguing with her. Sure, we'd had moments of an _almost_ friendship, but by now Lucy had made it quite clear to me that she only hung around me because she _had_ to.

I disagreed with Mavis; if I really wanted to, I would've left her and her stuck up pride two weeks ago and even given up this flat just to get away from another pestering human.

But I didn't.

I'd stuck around, and I still didn't know why. It wasn't the fact that Lucy was the first mediator I'd ever known, or the fact that she was different from any other girl I'd ever met. Yeah, she'd always been silently fierce ever since I got to know her. Braver than most people I'd known, someone willing to go back and help another ghost in the middle of the night because she knew she had to.

But there had always been something broken about her. Something broken inside, and I'd seen it in the broken light in her eyes and the broken place where she hid her emotions, and I found myself drawn to her, just trying to figure out how to fix the pieces and make them whole again.

And now, I had a terrible feeling that maybe she didn't want to be fixed.

Staring fixatedly at the wood, I also knew that it wasn't a feeling I liked. The feeling which nagged at me and whispered cruel words like _she doesn't even need you, you know_ , especially after I'd gone ahead and let myself play along the _let's be friends_ card with her.

For a second, I felt cold. Colder than usual. I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my elbows on them, closing my eyes.

Before I knew it, her face flashed in my mind. Her face, so similar to Lucy's, yet so wholly different at the same time. Her short, black hair falling over her exasperated, disapproving face and her dark eyes staring at me a traitor.

In the next second, my eyes flew open, the door slammed shut, and I heard a pained gasp echo in the silent room, all at the same time.

It took me a moment to realize it was my own gasp—but by then I had turned my attention to the doorway. Some guilty hope in the pit of my stomach hoped it was Lucy, though I didn't have the foggiest of how to make things up with my messed up roommate.

But it wasn't her.

The boy from the pizzeria—Loke, I think—was standing in front of the door. He turned around almost immediately to pull it open again, calling out to someone.

"Hey, are you coming?"

Perplexed, I sat there for a second. Then I caught a glimpse of Lucy's blonde hair in the doorway and her hesitant words. "…I told you to wait…"

No. Lucy could do better than this. What was she playing at?

When she walked in after Loke, she looked like she'd spent the last half an hour standing on top of a moving bike. Her hair was windblown and her cheeks were flushed, and it wasn't rocket science to put together who'd been snogging whom a little while before Loke barged into her room.

She sought me immediately, and I wasn't sure whether that was remnant irritation with me on her face or fresh annoyance at me for ruining her little party, but the hint of apology and embarrassment in her eyes were clear.

"Lucy…are you okay?" Loke moved forward, touching her cheek, running his thumb over it.

Lucy blushed, and I looked away, disgusted. "You're right," I said to her, leaping down and heading for the door in two strides. "I'll leave."

The unspoken, mortified words died away on her face as I kicked the door open again and made sure it crashed back close as I came out into the dark hallway. The door shuddered in its frame as I heard Loke exclaim inside, "What was _that_?!"

Unable to fathom my reaction, I snarled at the door. "That's what you and your new boyfriend will get for ruining the place _I_ lived in, Heartfilia."

There was no response, obviously, except for Lucy's half-hearted excuses about the wind and Loke's excited questions.

Marveling at my own calmness and maturity, I headed down the stairs three at a time.

* * *

The wind felt cold even on my skin. And, walking aimlessly along the streets, I suddenly hated it.

Hated the cold. Hated myself.

Hated being dead.

"Damn it!" I cursed aloud. I had stopped in the middle of the deserted road, hands balled into tight fists. For the first time since I died, I felt scared. _Terrified_. Terrified of _myself_ , because I didn't know what was happening to me and here I was, standing around on the street, just a pathetic dead person.

And then I was angry at Lucy, and at the universe for making me meet her. Because maybe if it hadn't, I wouldn't be a ghost jealous of the human guy she brought home with her tonight.

I wasn't sure of how long I walked before finding myself in the usual corner of the Magnolia Park. Everything was still and quiet and even the silence irked me.

Look, I'm not your usual bloke with raging hormones. But like I keep repeating, like the broken record I sound like, ghostliness _does_ have its cons. And when I got mad, I made sure I was mad at _everything_ , so that it gave me an excuse to swear at _all_ those cons.

The fact that I couldn't hear my own footsteps on the leaves was one of them.

It was ridiculous, but I was suddenly on the ground, head buried in hands. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, I could see her face again. It was strange; she'd always been the face of trouble and fights to me, but she'd always somehow turned up whenever I was in a glitch, like tonight. Yet, I was remembering her, after all this time of blocking them all out of my mind.

 _Moving on is easy_ , a voice whispered in my head. _Just stop being a coward_

 _It's never easy,_ I whispered back to the air. _Especially now that I have something to fight for here_

It was a few minutes before I brought my hands down to my knees, palms facing me. I felt surprised—I didn't know ghosts could cry.

* * *

Piper's Hotel and Casino was not the ideal vacation spot for the weak of heart.

By that, of course, I mean a spot where Hot Eye is pole dancing in the middle of a suite room is not meant for mortal _or_ ectoplasmic eyes. But I digress.

I was met with the usual cold stares and surprised eyes of my fellow dead community as I manoeuvered my way through humans taller than me and ghosts much less handsome than me. (That's right, ladies. Modesty is all I strive for.)

After I was done wasting twenty precious minutes of my non-existent life trying to find Mavis and twenty seconds gagging at the possibility of her getting romantic with Zeref on a bench in Magnolia, I made my way to the suite floor.

The party seemed to go on forever at Piper's. It was especially annoying tonight, but maybe it was because I was in a hormonal turmoil—and everything is excused then.

I will spare you the traumatizing details of what was going on inside the suite rooms.

At last I noticed my least favourite dead dude at a corner of the corridor. Zeref had an extremely disgruntled look on his face, even for him. Once I reached him, I noticed how young he really was, with his wild dark hair falling over his pale face.

But I didn't have time for male bonding. "Oi," I said to him, by way of greeting. He looked up at me with disinterested eyes, which I ignored. I didn't need _all_ sexes to be interested in me. "D'you know where Mavis might be?"

At that, my baby git closed his eyes in irritation. "How am I supposed to know?" he snapped.

Ah. I couldn't help myself. "Trouble in paradise?"

He snapped his dark eyes open and glared at me. "You're Gray, aren't you?"

"Last time I checked."

"Well, aren't you _best friends_ with Mavis? You're supposed to know where she goes off to, aren't you?"

I was a bit taken aback at his sudden outburst. I raised my voice to get the next words out, to make myself heard over the din of fifteen other ghosts making rude human jokes behind me. "I don't exactly _live_ here, you know—"

"Oh piss off." Zeref shifted his gaze, blankly back into oblivion.

Well, that made of us in a bad mood tonight. I was just about to grab his shirt and go for a classic manly move like pushing him up against the wall and demanding that he helped me hunt out Mavis, when a cool voice interrupted us.

"Actually," Mavis said, appearing almost out of nowhere between me and her psychotic almost-boyfriend. "I think I get to decide when to tell my guests to _piss off_ , Zeref."

I cocked an eyebrow as Zeref, who said nothing, clearly stood fuming in silence and averting his eyes from Mavis. She was scrutinizing me though, and I know she must have seen something in my face which made her abandon Zeref for the moment and nod infinitesimally at me, like _I'm coming_.

Relieved, I took her wrist. I felt a tug and looked up sharply, to see Zeref make a half movement to furiously pull Mavis back. Instead, when her eyes met his, he scowled and relaxed his grip.

Mavis turned away without a word and led the way out. I followed her without a backwards glance.

* * *

Outside, the street lamps were flickering shut as we walked in silence. At first, I didn't mind it. Darker, the better. Night seemed to be more soothing than harsh light.

But as we left Piper's behind completely and turned a corner, one of the street lamps gave out with a cracking sound and shards of glass fell at our feet on the pavement. I looked up to see the bulb crack and follow the glass down to shatter on the ground.

Mavis took my arm. "Gray," she said firmly. "Calm down."

I looked at her frustrated eyes and forced myself to take a deep, unnecessary breath and calm the hell down. Then I sighed. "It's Lucy."

Mavis's eyes were searching, but not sorry. And I appreciated that. "I thought so."

Groaning loudly, I sat down on the nearest porch steps of a building. Mavis stood in front of me, kicking away the shards of glass. "Tell me something," I said, after a long pause. "Is it because I thought I was human again? Why do I care about how she treats me?"

Mavis ran a hand through her hair. "Gray, it's true, that we haven't had much human connection since we died." She winced at the word, like always. "But you and Lucy—do you really think that's all there is to it?"

I looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Mavis shrugged. "Gray, every week you end up sitting here with me worrying about _one_ mortal girl. Do you think that's normal?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "What's _normal_ , Mavis?" I asked loudly, eyes on the uneven pavement stones. "The—the fact that I'm that one idiot who just can't accept he's dead? And insists on—" I was speaking so fast, I barely make out my own words. "—on _living_ in the same flat another human lives in and then letting myself go to pieces because of _one_ terrible fight—"

Mavis put her hands over mine, bending down. "Hey," she cut across. "Gray. It's always your choice, you know. You can leave tonight, right? Or," she hesitated. "You could just choose to stay. But then you have a Lucy to deal with, and from what I've seen—she's not just _any_ girl, right?"

I shrugged, feeling myself creep back to normalcy. "Yeah. I guess, it's because she's the first mediator I ever met."

Mavis didn't say anything for so long, that I had to look up at her. Then she nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I mean," I continued. "You're right, of course. A human who gives me this much trouble isn't worth sticking around for, but—"

"But she's different." Mavis smiled a bit apathetically at me. "Isn't she?"

We stared at each other for a very long time. "Mavis," I said slowly and distinctly. "I'm not in love with her, you know." Because I wasn't that much of a thickhead not to realize what Mavis's knowing smiles were implying.

She looked a bit surprised at my bluntness, but composed herself quickly. "I wasn't saying that Gray—"

"Alright, thanks for the usual therapy, Mavis," I interrupted, resting my hands on my knees in a finalized sort of way. "So what's the deal with Zeref?"

I could see in the grudging look in her green eyes that this conversation was far from being over, but she let it go with a sigh and shook her head. "He's a bit—insecure, let's say."

I moved over to let her sit beside me. She was even tinier next to me. "Landed another dramatic, huh?"

Mavis rolled her eyes at me. "Actually," she said, half exasperated and half amused. "He's _jealous_. Of you."

Okay, _that_ indeed was news to me. "Now wonder he was so hung up on us being best friends. Bet he can't stand you leaving him at Piper's all the time." I smirked.

A slight storminess took over Mavis's expression. That didn't seem to be a good sign, especially on most of the females I had encountered. "He's lonely, okay?" she threw at me. "I wish he'd understand you're just my best friend and nothing else—but I can't blame it all on him, you know? He'd always been so moody at Piper's, but then I started to talk to him and—" She broke off. "He's good deep inside, Gray. Don't give him a hard time."

I nodded. _Really_ deep inside, it seemed. "Yeah, I can see how much this means to you."I said finally. Mavis flashed me a smile and then looked up at the broken lamp.

"You're not going to replace that with a new bulb, are you?" she asked me.

"Hey, I'm _dead_ , I'm not Santa Claus. Someone else can do that."

"You're so selfish, Fullbuster."

I cocked an eyebrow, grinning. "Careful there," I said. "I keep all your secrets, you know."

Mavis laughed and rested her head against my shoulder. "I know," she said. "After all, you're my best girlfriend, Gray."

And yes, that remark will eternally haunt me.

* * *

I didn't want to go back home. I wanted to sneak into Alzack the Jerk Mediator's room and shave off all his hair. Or break into the Strauss house and search for a book that told single ghosts what to do with the rest of purgatory.

But as Mavis left to go back to Piper's and I watched her leave, I suddenly felt like I needed to get back and talk to Lucy. Even if she screamed at me. I needed to get this off my chest—because I didn't think I was moving out any time soon. Go figure.

Giving my usual logical thinking, I had forgotten all about Loke until I had snuck up the pizzeria side stairs, dodged no less than five suspicious cats, and arrived at the door.

I was standing there in the dark hallway for a long time, not trying the door, unsure of whether I'd have to witness the unspeakable between Loke and Lucy. The thought gave me shudders; and it also angered me. It wasn't really my business who Lucy had sex with, but it didn't have to be that arrogant git.

Swallowing my pride, I called out instead. "—Lucy?"

There was a heartbeat's pause. Then: "It's not locked."

I let out a sigh of relief, but didn't open the door. I mean, I was a _ghost_ standing in the middle of the darkness. _What_ was I scared of? "Are you decent?"

"Are you still mad?"

"Yes."

"Likewise." She called back.

I pushed open the door and kicked it shut behind me, looking around warily. Inside, only the small lamp on the bedside table was on. Lucy Heartfilia was lying on the bed, arms crossed behind her head, looking up at the ceiling.

She was alone.

She didn't look at me, but I did, and I couldn't help but feel mad all over again. And some tiny part of me _wasn't_ mad. It was precisely that tiny part which had willed me to talk to her in the first place.

I didn't approach her; I leaned back against the wall opposite the bed and raised an eyebrow at her. "Where's your friend with benefits?"

It worked. Lucy sat up and gave me a dirty look. There was something off in her face, but I couldn't place my finger on it. " _Loke_ ," she said emphatically. "Left a couple of hours ago."

I ignored the rejoicing relief in the pit of my stomach. The last thing I wanted was to prove Mavis right. "Oh."

Lucy closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. "Damn right, _oh_."

"You don't get to be mad this time," I accused, frowning.

My blonde freak roommate cracked one eye open. "No, you're right. _You_ get to be mad about almost breaking my door down and implying that I'm a slut."

Her harsh words sliced through the air and elicited a sharp gasp from me, which I cut off hastily. "Lucy," I said, and I could hear the horrified tone in my own voice. I tentatively moved closer to her bed. "I would _never—_ "

"Oh, save it for someone who cares, Fullbuster."

With a lot of effort, I bit back the angry retorts and then sighed. Lucy _was_ a grenade. And no matter what I'd promised myself earlier—I seemed to be the one who'd end up pulling the pin.

"I'm sorry for almost breaking down your door," I said reluctantly. From my experience, arguing with women, and especially with Lucy Heartfilia, demanded certain necessary skills I had never quite majored in.

There was silence for a second. "I'm sorry for yelling at you today." She shifted a bit to check her clock. "Yesterday."

I shrugged, and then went and sat near her feet on the bed. There was something distinctly wrong with her; her cheeks were a little too flushed and she couldn't seem to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds.

"Lucy," I started. "Hey, are you okay?"

She gave me another glare. "And why won't I be, may I ask?"

If she got any more impossible, I was throwing myself off Magnolia Bridge, and I don't care whether ghosts can die again or not. "You look a bit…"

"Yes?" She demanded, her tone threatening.

"Sick," I finished. "Are you sure you're not burning up or anything?"

Lucy's brown eyes held mine for a long time, her expression fierce and her mouth set in a hard line. Then, when I refused to look away, her eyes softened and she began to morph back into the Lucy from the afternoon I gave her a painting, so many years ago. She grudgingly nodded and leaned back. "I'm not feeling that dandy."

I nodded, and then smirked. "Dandy?"

"Shut up, Fullbuster."

"My apologies, Heartfilia." I got up and knelt down beside her instead. She really did look a bit under the weather. I hesitantly touched her forehead and realized she actually _was_ burning up. Lucy flinched at my cold touch.

"You're coming down with a fever," I cleverly deduced. "Where'd you keep your medicine?"

Lucy coughed a bit, twisting her neck and turning away from me. "I don't want any. I was just waiting up for you, so that I could yell at you. Just let me die in peace now."

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. "Sure it's not herpes?"

Lucy's fist narrowly missed my right eye. I suppressed a grin. "Or is Loke that bad a kisser that you fell sick?"

Lucy shot up in a second and gave me a nasty look, her arms crossed across her chest. She'd changed into PJs, I noticed. "No, Loke's a jerk, which is why I told him to get the hell out," she told me. "I'm not sure why you'd be interested in whom I'm kissing, but I can assure you there wasn't any snogging tonight."

I masked the look of utter joy that I _felt_ working its way up to my face, and stood up. Ignoring her protests, I firmly grabbed Lucy's shoulders and pushed her gently back onto the bed. She stopped saying anything once her head hit the pillow, and I pulled the covers over her. I hadn't run a fever in three years, but I remembered the brilliance of it all the same, a.k.a. the headaches and the shivering.

Lucy seemed to be tired out anyway. I switched off the light next to her and then moved over to hunt for some aspirin in the complete mess this freak had made of her belongings. I'd probably end up finding it in one of her bagel bags.

I was just tugging open another drawer when I was interrupted by a quiet voice. I turned to look at Lucy, and then made over to her to hear her better.

She was muttering something, and I bent down to place my ear near her mouth till her hair tickled the side of my face, to make it out. My eyes widened. It was my name. Just that, my name.

I straightened up hastily. "Yeah?" I said finally. "Lucy, do you need something?"

It was almost as if the whole fight was behind us. Lucy shifted and said something like, "Just sit here, moron."

Bewildered, I sat on the edge of the bed. Then, just instinctively, one of my hands reached out to hold one of hers. It was a bit too warm, but I laced my fingers through hers all the same, watching her face to see if she was going to wake up and pummel me to afterlife.

I heard my name, one last time, and then it was just me and a sleeping Lucy inside a dark room. The usual.

My other hand developed a mind of its own and brushed back the hair from her flushed forehead. I was sitting almost frozen, afraid that she'd wake up if I moved. But somehow, I didn't care anymore. I'd sit here all night.

Screw the aspirin.

* * *

 **Early apologies for any mistakes. :P That's a wrap; I'm not sure when I'll be updating next, but if I'm done with the next chapter by next week I'll upload again in the weekend. Till then :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**I am so, so sorry for uploading THIS late. I have no excuse. I initially had a bit of writer's block, so I kept writing and rewriting and postponing the next chapter. Then exams rolled around and I was bogged down completely. AND, here I am, pretty much nine months later with the ninth chapter :P BUT, I worked pretty hard on this chapter, and we are moving ahead with the GraLu fluff!**

 **So, please don't kill me guys! I'm really sorry. I hope you like this chapter. :)**

* * *

 **Nine**

I'm not sure how long I sat motionless on Lucy's bed, holding one of her hands in the darkness.

The excuse I gave myself was that if I left, she'd wake up, and then I'd have to run for my post life. Just protecting my tush, that's all. I'd spent an astonishingly long time simply marveling at the warmth of her hands and just watching her breathe softly.

However, patience had never been one of my greatest virtues. Or holding back curiosity, for that matter.

When I noticed my painting still lying with all its glory on the floor, I gently disentangled my fingers from Lucy's and bent down on the floor to pick it up and place it on the desk—that was _my_ masterpiece on the ground. I'd like to preserve my art for the next ghoul conference, thank you.

Since I happened to be a ghost Lucy Heartfilia could _hear_ , I had to tread carefully. Mr. B had not exactly renovated this place in the last decade; the floorboards still creaked like the whole blasted human population was waltzing on them.

Of course, treading carefully in my dictionary means clumsily knocking something over (or possibly killing a cat). On my incredibly careful way to the desk, my foot came down on a hard object, and I heard a distinct _crack_.

"Curse it!" With a sinking feeling, I hastily moved away and looked down. It was Lucy's phone—the one she pretended didn't exist. In fact, for a seventeen year old girl who left her phone in a corner of the room and then forgot all about it for a whole week, I worried for her social life.

It must've fallen down when I slammed the door earlier tonight. Or perhaps when Loke was trying to make out with my freak roommate.

I bent down to retrieve it and realized with relief that the hunk of metal seemed to be intact except for a large crack along the screen. Well, it's not like Lucy used this phone anyway; I can't even remember it ringing in all the time that it's been abandoned in this apartment. It looked like a model that had grabbed eyeballs some time ten years ago.

My foot had jerked it awake though. The screen glowed behind the ugly gash across its surface, and though I'd meant to simply pick it up and place it away from poltergeist hands, my eyes caught the letters anyway.

I repeat, I am not a spy.

But maybe I kind of took a teeny tiny moment to scroll down in surprise, once I saw the seventeen missed calls in the last two days from _Mom_.

My gaze automatically shifted to the photo frame on the bedside table, the one with Lucy and her parents. She'd kept shut about her mother when I asked her. I knew it was none of my business, but unless Lucy simply had no clue her phone had been vibrating away all this time her mother had been calling, I felt terribly sure she was ignoring those calls.

A sickened feeling gripped me. Once again I was letting myself get caught up in Lucy's life, the way I shouldn't, and my obstinacy sat firmly down on my moral compass even as I told myself I should piss off and let Lucy fight her own battles.

I was about to keep the phone on the bedside table and start preparing myself for a nosy speech I'd be giving to Lucy about this tiny discovery the next day when I heard her stir and murmur something behind me.

Well there go my great universal concerns about ugly phones and parent issues.

I was next to Lucy at once, kneeling in front of the bed, trying to figure out why she was moving around so much. Then I caught sight of her face; her eyebrows were pulled together and her nose scrunched up. It would've made a hilarious Christmas greeting card picture, except for the anguished expression she seemed to have.

Obviously, my cerebral cortex being the way it is, I spent a good twenty seconds frowning down at my roommate as she twisted around in the sheets and tried to escape her nightmare.

Then I kept the phone aside and gingerly put my cold fingers around her wrist. She whimpered a bit, and I felt an unfamiliar pang of agony in my chest. Like I was the one having that ghastly nightmare which made her look this way.

"Lucy." I sounded calmer than I felt. "Hey, Luce. Heartfilia, wake your ass up."

She muttered something in her sleep and made an unintelligible sound again. Finally I got up and pinned both her wrists to the bed, and spoke louder and more firmly. "Lucy, wake up."

I _would've_ thrown a glass of water in her face like my good old human days, but that _probably_ isn't the best thing to do to a sick person. Probably. I'm a ghost, I'm not supposed to know.

I bent closer to Lucy until I could feel her hair against my jaw. It was damp with sweat. "Heartfilia. Wake up."

She gasped herself awake and almost crashed into me as she sat up, getting herself even more caught up in the messy bed sheets. Her deep brown eyes darted around confusedly for a moment, and then found mine.

"Uh, please don't assassinate me, I didn't—"

My words were cut off with an unmanly squeak as Lucy's arms came round my neck and she pulled me closer. I stumbled clumsily onto the bed as she embraced me, her face buried in my shoulder. I could feel the feverish heat off her body.

Stomach doing unghostly backflips, I tentatively put my arms around Lucy's slim body as well, feeling the warmth burn through her clothes.

I felt myself tighten my grip around her, my left hand stroking her hair, running my fingers down the matted strands and smoothening them out. "Hey. It's okay." I tilted my head so that she could hear me. "It's okay."

We sat there in that awkward position on the bed, holding each other.

"I'm so sorry," she finally said in a low tone, still not letting go.

I didn't either. I was relieved she was coming back to some level of normalcy. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm not as pathetic as you think I am. I swear I'd normally _never_ —"

I rubbed her back. "Shut up Heartfilia. You bring out the chivalrous in me."

I grinned as I felt her reluctant laugh vibrate through me.

"I thought chivalry was dead, Fullbuster."

"Mm. It died when I did, isn't that obvious?" I laughed when Lucy did a scoffing _heh._ "Tell me about your nightmare. What got you so upset?"

A pause. The usual silence Lucy likes to respond with when I ask her a serious question. Honestly, sometimes humans can be _so_ dramatic.

Why are you giving me that look? _I'm_ not dramatic.

Oh shut up.

"Lucy?" I prompted.

"I don't want to talk about it."

I closed my eyes, and then sighed, reaching up to unclasp her hands from my neck. "Of course you don't."

Missing her warmth already, I got up from the bed. I sneaked a glance at her slightly crestfallen expression, and then noticed how flushed she looked.

"Gray, I didn't mean to—"

"Get some sleep, Lucy." I didn't look at her again as I bent down to pick up the bottle of aspirin and handed it to her. She took it from me mutely.

Handing her a bottle of water, I fixed the sheets back to their original position and raised an eyebrow at Lucy when she didn't have the aspirin. "Come on. Down the hatchet."

She looked like she wanted to say something to me, but then she must've changed her mind because she set the bottle beside her and fell back on the pillows. I didn't ask her.

As Lucy fell back asleep, I decided that I'd had enough emotional onslaughts tonight than a ghost really needed.

A little fun wouldn't do any harm. After all, I was already dead.

* * *

I might mention my uncanny prankster habits as a young and happy little boy.

I should also perhaps mention than these great worldly talents never left me. So you see, sneaking a cat onto a snoring Natsu Dragneel's face is perfectly legitimate.

But even for a ghost—who, just the by the way, kind of has to hover around for a _pretty_ long time—I was bored almost a few minutes into it. Sure, it was a joyous moment in my afterlife when Natsu made a half strangled gasping noise, breathing in a lot of cat fur and crashed himself on the floor to wakefulness. Still, I could feel my mind was on something else, and it wasn't until I was calmly watching Natsu spit out a fur ball that I remembered the cracked phone screen.

Well, this _was_ a rather enlightening sight, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to enjoy it.

All Natsu's fault of course.

I was making a rather handsome picture of brooding over my little unnecessary discovery when I felt something warm against my leg. I looked down from my perch on Natsu's desk.

The cat was happily brushing against my ectoplasmic pants. "Wait, you're a cat." I raised an eyebrow at the white tabby as I made this very intelligent statement. "Of course you can feel me."

Natsu was in a tangled mess on the floor. I ignored him.

Picking up the tabby by the scruff of its neck, I grinned down at its confused face. "Sorry for the detour," I teased. It threw up its paws, trying to scratch my eyes out. I wasn't kidding when I said animals are drawn by my charm too. "But hey, that makes two living things that know I still exist."

The words left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. Something tugged at the corner of my mind and I was torn away from Natsu's room. Suddenly I was looking at a hazy memory of a fireplace, a broken table and a ginger bobtail streaking across the living room floor, knocking over another chair.

A girl laughed.

My eyes closed with a hiss of pain as I fought against her face in my mind. The memory broke before I even let it resurface.

Feeling slightly shaken—and annoyed at Natsu still pathetically trying to cough up fur—I carefully set the feline on the desk and jumped down. He still hadn't noticed the cat.

In fact, it hadn't made a single sound. Not even a mewl.

I turned slightly, trying to break through the distracting images in my mind by scrutinizing the tabby. "You're not dead too, right?" I'd never really given much thought to dead animals. It felt almost rude to not consider the fact that there were sheep ghosts hanging around as much as people ghosts.

My remarkable deduction was shattered to smithereens when Natsu managed to recover and noticed the cat with a loud unmanly yelp. He grabbed a pillow, and I dived to scoop the tiny wriggling bastard in my hands before the pillow hit it.

He tried to drag a claw across my hands.

"It won't work, so quit trying," I told it sternly. "Haven't you ever seen a ghost before?"

Natsu was trembling behind me, hands shaking on the pillow. Well, it must've been disconcerting so see a sudden tabby float through the air, but I'm sure stranger things must've happened in Natsu's brain. But I _was_ a tad worried about causing a possible cardiac arrest.

Getting a hold on the struggling cat, I made my way to the window, hoping to jump down to the next sill. I really didn't want to stay in Dragneel's room anymore—the atmosphere of stupidity was getting on my nerves and I needed cleaner air to breathe.

A pillow missed us as I jumped. All the better—I don't think Igneel would like fur _and_ feathers in his son's room for rent.

* * *

"Gray?"

I let the tabby jump down from my arms as I walked over to Lucy's side, kneeling down in front of the bed. "Yeah, I'm here."

She opened her eyes tiredly, blinking once or twice before she focused on my face. I felt funny all over—she had strands of her blonde hair sticking up in disarray, her cheeks were flushed from fever, her eyes were sleepy, and yet all I could think of was how beautiful she still looked to me.

And it was scaring the hell out of me. Which is really supposed to be my job.

"I— _what is that?!_ "

"What—oh that. It's a cat." I looked over my shoulder to see the thing jumping onto one of Lucy's unopened boxes, testing it a bit to see if it could be a possible home.

Lucy scrambled her way out of the sheets and sat straight up. Her eyes were wide and I started to freak—she had her usual assassinating expression on. "I can see it's a _cat_!" she snapped, her voice getting higher in disbelief. "What I mean is, what is a _cat_ doing in my apartment Fullbuster?"

"Hey." I cocked an eyebrow at her, reaching over to grab the tabby. "I happen to like it. And also, it's kind of _our_ apartment?" I looked down at it, one finger stroking its belly. "So what do you want to name it?"

There was a very long, very awkward pause which I feel positive was just enough time for Lucy to mentally call me every bad name in every language she knew.

"Do we look like an old married couple to you?" she asked finally. She actually looked hilarious despite being furious. With her messy hair and wide eyes she wasn't coming off very terrifying. "I _hate_ cats!"

I let out a low whistle. "I thought of Happy."

" _What_?!"

"Happy." I grinned up half apologetically, half pleadingly at Lucy. "I'm thinking of calling him Happy. D'you like it?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Gray," she started, slowly and patronizingly. Everything in this flat almost felt normal again. "D'you hear me? I _hate_ cats."

"That's why you have me. They adore me." I rubbed the tabby's back and it purred, nosing its way into the crook of my elbow. I was glad it was warming up to me, just in time to impress the lady nonetheless.

"Fullbuster, I swear to God—"

"Look around, Luce," I said finally. My voice was quiet. "Everything in this room—it all belongs to you. I don't have a single thing to my name here."

"I—" Lucy, exactly as stubborn as I was, starting to argue and then broke off. She deliberated for a few minutes, bottom lip jutting out and looking conflicted.

"Fine." She sighed, looking down. "Keep him. Happy."

Happy purred.

I let him wander, padding across the creaky floorboards. Lucy and I weren't saying anything, and the silence felt strange and comfortable at the same time. I glanced at the clock—3:30 AM.

"Aren't you sleepy?" I looked up at her, searching her deep brown orbs.

She was chewing on her lip. "I keep having nightmares. I can't sleep."

"I could read to you."

Lucy looked as shocked as I felt at my words. But I honestly wouldn't mind—when I was still alive, the only way I'd ever fall asleep would be with a book between my fingers. She was a reader, and I knew it'd be especially effective that way.

Then she shook her head. "No." She looked away. "Thanks."

"It's really no problem," I pressed. "I used to do it all the time for—"

I felt like kicking myself in frustration as I stopped short. Lucy's eyes flitted to mine as I stopped talking, curiousity burning in them. And I knew, and hated, the question which was coming.

"For whom—"

"No one." My words came out harsher than I'd intended them to sound. Desperate to drive the conversation away from where it was headed, I remembered what was actually bothering me and worked up the courage.

"I have something to ask you."

Lucy crossed her legs, resting her elbows on them. "Yes?"

Taking a deep breath, I gestured to the cracked phone on the bedside table. "I knocked over your phone," I explained. "And when I picked it up, I noticed you have quite a few missed calls." She gave me a puzzled look and I came to the point. "From your mother. Seventeen. Over the last three days."

She changed her posture at once, stiffening. A muscle leapt in her jaw as she set it firmly. "So you decided to pull a Holmes on my life." Her tone was quietly angry. Betrayed. "Again."

"No, Lucy—"

Her voice shook. "Never touch my phone again."

"But don't you want to know why—"

"No."

I frowned at her. "Hey, you're all alone in another town. I think you should at least pick up her call."

"Gray, stop."

"Lucy, what if your mother needs you—"

I never saw it coming. Lucy wrenched a photo frame off the bedside table in a sudden outburst of rage and flung it across the floor. "She _doesn't. Need. Me_!" She was screaming, and the sounds of the frame shattering against the opposite wall, Lucy's loud words and Happy's shocked sounds all mingled into a terrible noise.

"Okay, okay, Lucy—" I got to my feet hurriedly, trying to calm her down. "Hey—"

And then Lucy was sobbing, her face crinkling up until she collapsed onto the sheets. Her screams dissolved into helpless, desperate crying. There was a deafening, bitter silence in the room. Only Lucy's heart wrenching sobs, racking her whole body.

I regretted having said anything to her. Each time she drew in a ragged breath it sent a pang of agony across my chest. I stood frozen to the ground, unable to comprehend what to do.

"Luce," I couldn't recognize my own voice. It came out in a guilty, pained whisper. I'd never seen her like this.

But the second my fingers made contact with her heaving shoulders, she jerked it off. I saw the effort she made to stop sobbing, sucking in breath sharply, flinching away from me every time I tried to touch her.

Then she pushed the sheets aside and stumbled her way across the floor, to the shards of glass and cracked frame lying on the ground. It was the picture with her and both her parents.

I stood motionless, hating myself. It seemed trying to unravel a single secret of each other always ended up hurting one or the other. Neither of us wanted to bare even a fraction of our soul to each other, and yet each time we thought it was okay to, we ended up in a mess more complicated than the last.

And I detested it, because I couldn't leave Lucy Heartfilia alone despite all of that.

She was still trembling. Probably in fury. I watched as she pulled out a polythene bag from beside the trashcan and violently started to gather the broken glass. It was only when I saw she was cutting her fingers raw that I rushed to her side, yanking her back by the shoulder.

"No, _let me go, GRAY_!" She shouted, bloody fingers pulling at my restraining hands. I was still stronger than her. Gripping her by the wrists, I pinned her against the cupboard. "Lucy, calm down, you're hurting yourself."

"NO!" She looked deranged. Her eyes were mad, tortured and outraged at the same time. I'd seen Lucy angry. But I'd never seen this. I felt helpless and bewildered, watching her scream and cry at the same time. The last thing we needed was for Igneel and the landlord to wake up and find her this way.

"Gray, _let me go_." She tugged at my hands, but I refused to let go. We were both kneeling on glass shards, but I knew I wasn't the one bleeding. "Just go away, okay? _Please just LEAVE!_ "

"Lucy, stop—Lucy, listen to me—"

"I was fine!" She was still struggling, but now she had her face scant centimeters away from mine, spitting the words in my face. " _I was fine_ , you bastard, before you had to come with the third degree— _why do you care about my life_?"

I couldn't bear listening to the nerve wracking sound of Lucy's walls chipping away as she broke down and yelled at me through her tears. And it was all my fault.

Without thinking, I reached over and put my arms around her, pulling her to my chest. One of my hands still had her wrists in a death grip.

She was trembling all over as she thrashed against me. I could feel her trying to hit me wherever she could, but I obstinately didn't let go. I released her hands and buried my left hand into her hair instead, pulling her head into my shoulder, holding her tightly as she screamed against my collar. Her knee banged against my torso in a desperate attempt to hurt me.

"Shh, Luce." I had her clothes grasped in my fists, my legs spread on either side to make sure she didn't try to escape and fall back on the broken glass on the other end. "Shh, sweetheart, someone will hear. Calm down."

" _Let me go, Gray!"_ she screeched. Her voice cracked and broke. Her hands beat against my chest, as she cried loudly, her tears soaking through my shirt. I could feel them.

"No." Instead, I pulled her against my body even more, tightening my hold on her lithe body. My lips were on her hair. "I'm never doing that."

Lucy continued fighting, until her shoulders heaved and her sobs were reduced to a silent flow of tears. She was panting against my shoulder. I realized she'd stopped trying to punch me and her fingers were curled tightly around my collar now. I bent my knees around her, my arms supporting her heated body and kissing her hair until she gradually became quieter. Finally, she stopped gasping and shivering. I felt deep, slow, uneven breaths against my chest.

There was a deadly silence. Lucy was still.

I couldn't remember ever holding onto anyone as hard as I held her.

* * *

"Here."

I stepped over Happy as I carried a towel washed with warm water to the bed. Lucy was leaning back against the wall, staring at her bloodied skin.

Handing her the towel, I stood in front of the bed. She silently took it, wiping away the blood on her hands and knees. Her pajamas were stained crimson.

She hadn't spoken a single word.

I had kicked the ruins of the photo frame to one side, meaning to dispose of it the next day. As I threw Lucy some antiseptic, I checked the clock again—4 AM. It had been the longest night I'd ever had. And I'd spent many a long night after I died.

Cleaning up and waiting for the water to get warm had given me a few precious minutes to think. And I'd come to a decision.

Maybe Mavis had been right. I didn't know. But I knew Lucy had become far too important for me to ever imagine losing her. And whether she ever chose to open up to me or not, I realized I wanted to tell her about myself. I had always trusted only a handful of people in my life—and though it terrified me, I knew I wanted to trust her too.

I wanted to bare just the smallest part of me to her.

Once she was done, I crossed my arms. "Are you tired?" I asked abruptly.

I was waiting for the obvious answer. But Lucy shook her head. She hadn't looked me in the eye since I let her untangle herself from my arms.

"Then get dressed."

Speaking for the first time, she asked in a slightly hoarse voice, "Where are we going?"

I looked down at her. "The cemetery."

* * *

 **It was a bit short. I promise to make up for it in the next chapter. SO, how did you like the drama? Tell me your thoughts by dropping in a review, please! It'd really help. :)**

 **P.S. I am currently tripping over DNCE. Is anyone else totally loving their music?**

 **Anyway, see you next chapter. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Guess who's back with a new chapter! AND, this is a pretty important chapter. Regarding Gray at least, and I just finished this up at 1 AM here, and I'm too tired to proofread it. So I'm really sorry for any mistakes I might've made!**

 **Apologies for not having thanked the reviewers, followers and favouriters last chapter. Here they are, along with the newbies. Thanks so much to natsuaki, khybrd90, jennifersalazar, grayluki, dolphintale204, andreww428, Tanensei no hono, Silveny, Rekunae, Prick 'n Improper, Lolz2338, KnowledeSeer (massive thank you for adding my story :)), Kkatielou, Kasuyorai, JaDeCiTa609, Jwnipeo, Ehhghhmmmm, Erika Elencia, and tinygrande.**

 **Happy reading. :)**

* * *

 **Ten**

"It's freezing."

I shoved my hands in my pockets, raising an eyebrow. "It's July."

Lucy shot me a dark look. "I know you're a ghost," she said. "But I'm sure you can feel the drizzle?"

I was genuinely surprised to look around and realize it actually was raining. It must've been cold, considering it was four in the morning, but obviously I couldn't feel any other temperature _except_ cold. I never understood the weather in this town.

But I'd been far too distracted to notice. The tension between the girl next to me and I was almost tangible. Lucy was carefully walking with her body angled away from mine, awkwardly trying to follow my lead and stay away at the same time. It was kind of hurtful, but I didn't dare say a word.

She had her eyes averted, her hands also buried inside her jeans pockets. Those were the only two words she'd said to me in the last few minutes that we'd been walking across the rainy streets of Magnolia to the town cemetery.

Everything was eerily quiet. There weren't even ghosts out tonight. It was as if silence too was keeping shut until Lucy spoke.

I looked up through the thin mist at the dark jet black sky above. There were no stars. I'd always hated this kind of weather when I was still kicking around being human.

As we crossed another street, Lucy threw me a fleeting glance. "So…"

"Yeah?" I prompted.

She shrugged. "I don't want to meet any of your friends tonight. Is there a particular reason you're taking me to a graveyard?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

Lucy made a face. "I hate being cooped up. Fever or not." She brushed it off. "So why _are_ we going there?"

I gave her a serious look. "To murder you, Heartfilia." I frowned. "Wasn't that clear enough?"

"Haha." She looked least amused. "But there better be a good reason you're dragging me to a graveyard at 4 AM in the rain."

I didn't say anything. My eyes were trained down on my faded sneakers on the road. It almost physically hurt to be next to her and ignore the memory of the rather intense _episode_ that took place.

"Luce." Too anxious to look at her, I addressed the wet ground. "Do you want to talk about—about, you know…" My words trailed off. I was already imagining being kicked out of my own flat and being forced to live in a bunker with no one but Hot Eye for company when Lucy sighed.

"I don't want to talk about it, Gray." Sneaking a glance at her through my lashes, I saw Lucy too was speaking to the ground. She paused for a terrible drawn out second before saying her next words. "Ever."

I nodded fervently. "Okay." Then I worked up all my masculine courage and added, "Sorry. Really."

Lucy didn't answer which left me feeling even more miserable than I was before this conversation took place.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, leaving behind the houses and the cafes like leaving behind the life in the town. I led the way, following the familiar path to the tall Kardia Cathedral and the cemetery behind it. As we crossed the cathedral, I caught my own reflection in the glittering crystal panels. With a vague sense of déjà vu I remembered that it had been pouring the last time I came here too. My dark hair was windswept and glistening with raindrops which I couldn't feel—but even for someone who was dead, my face had turned paper white. I couldn't recognize the pair of blue eyes clouded in worry and a hollow emptiness.

I quickly rushed past the cathedral. I couldn't bear to look at that unknown person in the glass. Lucy followed, her boots making a light tapping sound against the stones.

Her voice, though a whisper, sounded deafening in the quiet when she spoke. "I've never been here before."

I bit my lip. "We won't stay long."

Pushing the cold iron gates, I entered the cemetery. Lucy was walking close by me now, but she was still rigid and careful. I didn't look at her—she'd snuck out in the middle of the night to help a ghost. There was no reason she'd be unsettled in the slightest being in between the graves.

The two of us moved soundlessly through the unkempt undergrowth. I could barely hear Lucy breathe as I blinked through the steadily increasing rain to find the grave I was looking for. Mine.

I came to a stop in front of the familiar gnarled tree. Lucy abruptly halted too, almost colliding with me. She quickly shifted. "What's wrong?"

I knelt down on one knee, my hand reaching forward to brush past the fallen leaves on my gravestone. The words engraved in the black stone shimmered up at us. My name.

Lucy gasped softly.

Without looking up at her, I said, "I'm all dust and bones beneath this ground."

The words were so dark and yet they rolled off my tongue without me feeling anything at all. I couldn't pretend to be anything else. Death wasn't something that ever really left anyone—the mortals _or_ the souls.

"Oh, God."

I finally shifted my gaze at Lucy. Her hair was swept to one side, drenched and her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted, gaping down at my grave, her small hands balled into tight fists. The whisper of a fog clung to our clothes, making details hazy.

"I—wasn't sure I ever wanted you see this." My words were choked. "But now I think I do. And it's got nothing to do with your powers," I added sharply. "It's—" I fumbled for the right words. "—it's a part of me. The most important part of me."

Lucy was still standing motionless, staring in horrified fascination at the silver words on my headstone. She wrenched her eyes away from it at last with great difficulty, as if floating out of a dream at the sound of my voice. Her eyes found mine, unfocused at first.

"Lucy?"

She blinked. "Why would you want me to see this?"

Good question. My brain's been asking me exactly that the last half an hour. "Lucy, we're a grenade. We almost explode with every secret we accidentally bare." I shrugged. "And I hate it."

Lucy was scrutinizing me. "Gray." She was very quiet. "You could always leave."

I sounded anguished and confused when I replied. "I don't want to." I took in a deep breath, my hands locking together. "I don't want to leave you."

Lines were turning blurry and I was crossing them fast. And I was trying to turn back, but I kept talking.

"I hate being one," Lucy said finally, turning to look at the grave again. "But I _am_ a mediator. And if you need me to help you, Gray, then maybe—"

"You don't get it, do you?" I was getting louder, but no one here could hear me. "This," I gestured to the black headstone. "Is the deepest, darkest part of my existence, all carved out in stone. And I know I've never told you anything about my life—but I want you see this."

"Gray, this won't make me suddenly open up to you about my feelings and shit like—"

I was on my feet, closing the distance us until I was inches away from her. "You don't have to," I whispered. Lucy didn't move a muscle, a deer in headlights. "But I can't look at you in the eye everyday and see each other's secrets reflected in them, okay? It's toxic."

Her expression hardened as she crossed her arms, averting her gaze. "Then maybe we're toxic."

"No, that's not what I—"

"You're a ghost." She set her jaw, though I could see her resolve breaking. "And you know humans and spirits don't get along." She held up a finger as I tried to interrupt. "Gray, as a mediator, the only connection I'm supposed to have with—the dead," she winced. "—is to help them. And I'm still trying to figure _that_ out," her words ended in a silent plea.

"Yeah?" I could make out her face better as the sky began to clear. Streaks of grey cut through the darkness as dawn approached. Her eyes mirrored my pain. "Who makes the rules? Luce, I've had three years to think about this existence—and I _still_ haven't figured it out." One of my hands reached out to catch her wrist. She didn't pull away. "None of us have."

She was worrying away at her lower lip. "I never trusted too many people. I'm sorry if you feel that way, but I'm not ready to let go of any of my secrets."

I was nodding before she finished speaking. "That's okay. You don't have to."

I released her hand, stepping back a bit. The little tense bubble around us broke as we both looked down at the buried remains of Gray Fullbuster.

Neither of us said a word, until Lucy broke the silence. " _'Beloved son and brother'_ ," she read out. "Brother? You had siblings?"

I was getting back that terrible headache I got whenever I thought of them. My family. I'd refused to mention their names to myself, let alone discussing them with anyone, ever.

And I looked at Lucy, and wanted to tell her everything.

I leant back against the withering tree, taking in a deep unnecessary breath. I wasn't sure how to say her name. But miraculously, my lips shaped it and I somehow formed the words. "Ul," I said. The single syllable of her nickname seemed to pound away at all my carefully built up walls. My head hurt, trying to remember all the foggy memories before I died. "A sister," I explained. "I had a sister."

This _so_ wasn't the ideal place for narrating childhood tales. It was raining, Lucy was already sick, and to top it off, we were standing in the middle of a blasted graveyard _on_ my own tomb.

Go figure.

Lucy didn't say a word. She patiently waited for me to go on. It almost burnt my tongue to talk about my life—I'd bottled everything I felt and remembered inside me for so long; it was the feeling someone might get when they try to sing along to a song they used to know many, many years ago. It didn't make sense.

"Four of us." My words came out a bit hoarse. "My parents and Ul. I'd always been a—well, a very reckless teenager." I almost smiled. _Teenager_ seemed like such an absurd way to measure age. I'd aged far more even when I stopped growing older the night I died. "I always stayed up in my room. I didn't really _want_ to spend much time with my folks."

"Gray, you don't have to tell me this." I looked up at Lucy. The rain was thinning now, and the sky was turning a pale shade of pink. "Really. I don't have to know."

I shook my head. It was like ripping off a bandage. It hurt like hell, but somehow bit by bit, I could feel relief at saying the words out loud replace the agony of reliving it all.

"My dad," I continued. "Always wanted me and Ul to take over his company when he retired. And of course, I was always the rebel," I said bitterly. "I hadn't figured out a single thing in my life, and yet all I knew was how I wanted to get out of that town and do anything but go into a cramped office room every day."

It felt weird to talk about such human stuff. My speech in the last three years had been mostly limited to vocabulary like _ectoplasm_ and _ghoul_ and a couple of other ghostly profanities of course.

"I wanted to do art. I wanted to do music. I had convinced myself and my friends that we could be larger than life." I shook my head, looking back on my stupidity. "I had far too many dreams and none of the diligence to work hard that my sister did. I—I was just an idiot of seventeen who thought I could fool my way to something great."

Lucy opened her mouth, her expression unfathomable, but closed it again. All the better—I couldn't see anything but my own regretful seventeen year old self right then.

"I'd just wanted to take an art internship in Magnolia for a year. I'd wanted to explore my options, but when I told my dad, he flipped." I shut my eyes, and the November afternoon came rushing back, roaring in my head. Me and my dad standing across each other in my bedroom, yelling at the top of our lungs. A stubborn dark haired kid, who refused to listen, walking out of the house with nothing but an overloaded suitcase and an acceptance letter which would get him nowhere without his nose to the grindstone.

"We had a fight. I left that day, before my mom and Ul returned home." I opened my eyes, inhaling in the cool air and the smell of moss. "I regretted it the second I got on the plane, but I always had a pride bigger than my body. All I did was text my parents I'd reached when I did."

"Did they—" Lucy broke off.

I jerked my head to indicate no. "That was the last time I ever reached out to them. I spent the next five months struggling with the internship, trying to make ends meet, living at rented rooms and motels." I made a frustrated sound. "Oh, God. Pride's such a dangerous thing, Luce."

She looked upset, but didn't move.

"The last time I saw my sister," I went on, trying not to relive that day too. Ul had always been a brilliant older sister. She'd read to me when I was little, and I'd do the same when she was sick. She'd been the one to stay up and fix all my school projects. She'd always bossed me around, but somehow I'd ended up learning a lot from her than I ever had from my parents. And I'd turned my back on her as easily as my home. "Was when Ul flew into Magnolia and found me through a friend. She was furious with me of course. She barged right into the rented room I was staying at, and when she got to know art wasn't working out for me…" I squeezed my eyes shut. "Well, at first she tried to talk patiently. I refused to go back. And she started getting mad. I was a coward Luce," I moaned, looking at the ground. "I didn't want to face my family. I wanted to stay hidden in Magnolia fighting an uphill battle."

Dawn broke. The first soft rays of sunlight hit Lucy's face at a slanted angle. I saw no pity in it and was glad. I didn't need her to feel sorry for me. I had quite enough of that on my own.

"I was so happy to see her and yet so angry for trying to pull me back home." I was speaking faster. "She left in a rush that night. I hadn't wanted to end up fighting with _Ul_ too, but we were both screaming at each other before she—well she said something about how I could never face the consequences of own actions and she stormed right out."

The night was so vivid in my mind. Too vivid. Painfully bright, and getting brighter every second.

"I remember I was staring at the door she slammed shut for, like a few seconds. But God, it felt like _ages_. And then I just made a split decision—I raced out the door, impulsive as always." I shivered slightly. "Ul was already walking away. I was staying at this motel right on the outskirts of the town—not around here," I gestured vaguely around. "You know, near the lake? Around there. And I remember everything was so quiet, and so cold."

It was getting harder to speak. I couldn't hear my voice anymore. "It snowed all day the day before you see," I explained. "Did I mention it was November?"

Lucy's lips were pressed in a hard line, her eyes tortured. "Gray, you don't need to tell me this. I'm serious."

Her words hung in the air but they didn't seem to reach me. I was standing alone in the cemetery, next to my grave, seeing but not feeling the first touch of morning sunlight.

"The snow—I think it had started to melt. Otherwise the roads couldn't possibly have been that slippery." My shoes dug into the scruffy land now, recalling their halted sprint across the snowy streets. "Ul had already crossed—I can't remember whether there was a bus-stop, or a—"

"Gray, stop. Please." Somewhere, in the corner of my mind, I knew that for the first time, Lucy sounded frightened of _me_. But all I could think of was me and my sister, just a road away from each other, the chilly wind too strong for her to hear me calling to her.

"I don't remember," I repeated flatly. "But I wanted to reach her before she disappeared round the corner and I—well I ran. I dashed from one pavement towards the other."

"Gray, don't—"

My eyes felt frozen as I continued staring blankly at my feet. "The roads were really slipper from the ice, you know." I said in a whisper. I could barely hear myself. "There was no way that truck could've stopped even if it _had_ seen me. Or if I'd seen a second earlier and tried moving." I shrugged. "There was too much snow."

Something seemed to be crushing my skull as I lived through the night again. A bloodcurdling scream as the lights closed in on me. Cold and more cold up my back, and then my head and then my heart.

With tremendous effort, I looked up. My eyes found Lucy's. And it was only when I saw the terror in them that I was jolted out of that ghastly memory. I realized with shock that Lucy looked every bit as anguished as I felt. But just her eyes—her body was rigid, her jaw set, her face masked except for the eyes which I'd learnt to read over time.

We stared at each other.

"Did I—did I scare you?"

She looked shaken, but obviously, she shook her head. Lucy probably had herself convinced that she'd spontaneously combust if she ever dared to admit she might get frightened. I didn't know whether that was brave or stupid.

"Lucy," I started firmly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

This, apparently, was again the wrong thing to say. She averted her eyes and crossed her arms. "I need you stop asking me that every time I don't reply to you."

"Well, maybe the next I bare my soul to you—"

"You didn't _have_ to," she snapped.

I was losing my temper. "Why are you so impossible? Honestly, can we ever have an actual conversation without you—you know—"

She looked back at me, cocking an eyebrow skeptically. "Yes? Without what, may I ask?"

Then I saw it. Her lips trembling at the corners. I sighed. "We're bickering again," I pointed out.

"Yes, well—"

Moving from my rooted position for the first time, I stepped forward over the damp ground and closed the short distance between us. "Luce." I was looking down at her, searching her face, speaking much more quietly than really needed. "I don't _want_ to bicker."

Lucy didn't even flinch at our close proximity. Instead, as if held captive, she stared right back up at me. I realized I was close enough to see the beads of rainwater glistening on the messy strands of her blonde hair that had come undone. In fact, I noted with dull surprise, I was near enough to count every one of her eyelashes.

Everything held its breath.

"Luce," I breathed. One of my fingers moved of its own accord to tilt her chin up until her perfect lips were almost level with mine. Following an unfamiliar instinct, I leant in, trapped in a strange cage of energy. Our lips almost brushed.

And then Lucy inhaled sharply. She dipped her head away from mine, breaking me out of my sudden impulsive urge. She fidgeted awkwardly as I quickly pulled my hand away, coughing in utter mortification.

"God." I backed away from her at the same time she hastily pushed back her hair and turned around. "I'm so sorry, Lucy. That was—totally uncalled for, I'm so sorry."

She had her back to me. But she didn't sound mad when she spoke, though she sounded almost as flustered as I felt. "No—that's okay. Um, we should get going." She cleared her throat. "I have work."

I nodded, feeling embarrassed and hating myself. Because as I followed Lucy Heartfilia through the maze of graves, I knew that I'd wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her.

But just like my sister, I was letting her walk away from me.

* * *

"I'm a fool," I groaned into the cool metal surface of the counter.

Mavis sighed exasperatedly. It was a miracle that she was even audible over all the chaos the ghosts were causing. Normally, Piper's was the _last_ place in Magnolia that I'd go to seek comfort. I preferred to brood pensively over the pointlessness of afterlife somewhere quieter, with nothing that could talk around me.

But it was the only place I'd be able to find Mavis this early. I was seated at the conveniently placed mini bar inside one of the penthouse suites on the west end of Piper's—the general location of the dead in this hotel. Obviously, none of us could taste a drop of the liquor, but I think infesting any place around a bar holding ingeniously named cocktails helped the 16th century feel better about themselves.

"I understand that, Gray." Mavis's agreement to my statement clearly reflected her true friendship to me. I was glad she had my back. "But that still doesn't explain why you brought a _cat_ with you."

I slowly lifted my head off the counter. My vision was bleary for some reason. "His name's Happy. He was already hovering around the pizzeria and I thought a cat would be of comfort." I went back to having my face flat against the counter. "He wasn't."

"Comfort?" I cracked open an eye to see Mavis raising an eyebrow down at me.

"Mavis, I'm embarrassed and depressed," I said. "Can you please let me mope in peace and just pretend like everything always works out in the end?"

She didn't say anything, pursing her lips and looking back over her shoulder instead. The scene behind us was something I did not wish to have imprinted in my brain.

Happy seemed to be more likeable than me in my own ghostly community, because as I walked into the room with the cat in my arms, the dead were all swooning over the animal like proud PTA mothers. Presently, Happy was being showered with more attention than he'd ever been given, though why that feline _liked_ the idea of Hot Eye trying to ride its tiny body beat me.

It would've been hilarious—almost all the ghosts of Magnolia crowding around Happy like they'd never seen a cat—had I been in a mood for humour. The walk back home had been a stony silence and a solid wall of awkwardness between me and my roommate. And the mortification had been building up inside. Before Lucy could even look back at me, I'd scooped up Happy from outside Belle's and changed my direction, making for Piper's alone.

"You know I can't help you unless you tell me what happened." Sweet Mavis, as firm as ever. I would take white lies that morning over practical advice, but I always appreciated her genuineness. "What _really_ happened with Lucy?"

"I messed up."

"Yes," she said, sounding impatient. "You've said that three times already. What, did you accidentally choke her in her sleep?"

"No."

"Gray…"

"Mavis, don't, okay?"

She shut up, but didn't leave. Instead, she reached out, her small hand interlocking with mine. "Would you like to drink away your sorrows?" she joked.

I almost grinned, looking up into her emerald eyes. "You know, I was sixteen when I had my first illegal drink." She focused her attention on me, eagerly waiting for me to go on. "Yeah, a couple of my friends nicked their father's brandy." I laughed at the memory. The sound was off. "And we were all hiccupping for the next _hour_."

Mavis suppressed a giggle. "The only thing _I_ ever did illegally was spray paint a billboard."

I sat up straighter, feeling a little less like I wanted to disappear under a rock. " _You_ did something illegal?" I put a hand over my unbeating heart in mocking shock.

"Haha." She gave me a sarcastic look. "I was fifteen. My cousin was in town and he slipped into my room in the middle of the night—" she broke off as someone accidentally flung a complimentary hot towel in our direction, rolling her eyes at the idiotic ghoul before turning back to me.

There was an excited light in her eyes that I seldom saw. "—and he was holding these giant cans of paint. That was the first time I snuck out of home—and I remember, we climbed up those steep steps along this tank and up to the board." She grinned fondly as she spoke. "The wind was so strong and I kept slipping, but I wasn't scared in the slightest. And we spray painted all over the advertisement sheet." She finished with a reminiscent touch of pride.

I was genuinely curious now. "And what did you guys do?"

Mavis had a mischievous look in her eye. "We drew the eye of the Illuminati."

I started to laugh and then we were both laughing despite the ridiculousness of the stories we shared. It all seemed like a different era. _Literally_ a lifetime ago.

But just like small bursts of laughter do, we fell quiet after a few minutes. I was looking down at my hands, wondering what to say to Lucy, and it was one of those problems I didn't want to face just yet. "Humans were problematic enough," I said out of the blue. "Without throwing in humans who act as mediators as well."

My friend shrugged. "Is this stemming from Lucy too?"

"What do you think?" I asked blackly.

Her voice was bleak. "I don't know if it's good for a mediator who doesn't even realize her own powers to—to hang around a ghost." She looked a bit apologetic.

I scrunched my eyes shut as Lucy's words echoed in my head. _Maybe we're toxic_.

"Mavis," I said suddenly. "Remember the two new mediators in town?"

Mavis narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"That boy you told me about?" I prompted. "Remember? And his brother."

"Yes…" she said slowly, realization dawning on her face. "Yes, my mother found him." She winced at the mention of her mother and I gave her a reassuring look.

"Alzack," I recalled. "That git. But I don't think the kid knows he's a mediator."

"But if his brother knows—"

"He refused to help any of us," I told her. "But if your mother found him—well if the kid doesn't know his own powers, it's dangerous for him. Especially in Magnolia."

Mavis pinched the bridge of her nose, looking older and tired. "You're right," she agreed. "Magnolia has far too many ghosts."

I waited for approximately one second before springing my next irrational decision on her. "I want to meet him. The kid."

"Gray, the last time you tried being friendly with a mediator—"

"Lucy's my friend," I interrupted sharply. "Or at least I hope so. She's not just a mediator."

Mavis stared at me for a long time, searching my face. Then she glanced sideways and I followed her gaze to realize ickle Zeref was watching us like a hawk. He was leaning against the wall, away from all the excitement over Happy, his dark eyes scrutinizing my every move.

Well, at least I had _someone_ who couldn't tear their eyes from my face.

Mavis sighed. "You know what?" She got up, taking my hand firmly. "I've had quite enough of Piper's. Let's go."

As we turned to leave, I didn't bother taking Happy along. Maybe both the cat and Lucy would be better off that way.

* * *

On the way, we crossed Bell's Corner. I wouldn't have stopped had both Mavis and I not stopped dead—excuse the phrase—at the noise of a huge commotion from inside the cramped up pizzeria.

Well. We were dead. No one would see us if we entered to watch the action.

It was Natsu Dragneel. Ickle Dragneel was arguing heatedly with his father, and the doors to the building were jammed. The only people who turned up at a pizzeria at six in the morning were ghosts and people in dire need of coffee, so there weren't too many casualties subject to the insufferable screeching sound that was Ickle Dragneel's yelling.

But it wasn't a fight which made me halt. It was _what_ Natsu was saying that disturbed me.

"—and I _bet_ it's her cat!" he finished.

Igneel looked down wearily at his unlucky offspring. "Natsu, I'd like you to please stop screaming the place down."

Mavis nudged me. She shifted her gaze to behind Igneel—Lucy was standing there, looking furious and puzzled. Her brunette friend—Cana, I'm sure—was standing beside her, gripping an empty tray so hard that her knuckles were white.

Natsu looked pissed. He jabbed a finger in Lucy's direction. "Well, ask her Dad! I don't know where that _animal_ came from, but I'm pretty sure it didn't unlatch my window all by itself. Someone let it in."

"What's your point, Natsu?"

There were only two people inside, and they were studiously staring at their tables, suppressing smirks. I was feeling slightly guilty. Because you know, it was a teeny tiny bit my fault.

Stop looking at me that way. It's rude to stare.

"I went up to your floor," Natsu said in an accusing tone, addressing Lucy now, who stared him down with an icy look. "And I heard you—I don't know, breaking things and yelling. I don't know _who_ you talk with up there, or whether you're cuckoo, but ever since you arrived, weird stuff's been happening _everywhere_."

Lucy set her jaw, almost livid with thinly veiled rage. "Yes, and what 'weird stuff' happened, may I ask?"

Natsu looked at her incredulously. And I could see the words on the tip of his tongue— _I see you talking to air and it's freaking me out and I want you to leave._ But Igneel was waiting for a response from his son with stony silence and I could see that nothing Natsu said would check out.

"Dad, I don't trust her. I keep telling you, _there's something wrong with her_." Natsu sounded almost desperate now. I'd never seen anyone Lucy knew speak of her this way. I couldn't see how anyone could hate her, despite being a rather annoying pain in the ass at times.

Cana opened her mouth to say something, probably curse at him, but Igneel beat her to it. "I think I can decide whether or not to trust my employees, Natsu." His voice was dangerously soft. "And you should be ashamed of yourself for making such a big deal out of your stupid imaginations. In front of everyone."

He turned around before his son could interrupt, ending the conversation with an air of finality. Cana threw Natsu a brief look of disgust, tossed her hair and walked away with her tray.

Before I could intervene, Natsu marched right up to Lucy and whispered roughly, "You're mad," he said. "And you're pretending to be this—this innocent little girl, aren't you? I haven't forgotten that night," he hinted.

Mavis and I seemed to share the same repulsion towards the guy.

Lucy was about to retort, when Igneel called her. "Ms. Heartfilia—a word, please."

She looked torn between giving Natsu a piece of her mind and leaving. Finally, she leant in and spat the words in his face—"Thanks for humiliating me, Dragneel."

As she turned to walk away, I caught her eye and she hesitated, noticing me for the first time. It didn't take long to figure out why Natsu was angry about last night, especially because I showed up at our room with Happy anyway.

Her eyes hardened. Then she tore her gaze away and left without a backwards glance.

Mavis cleared her throat. "Gray?"

I nodded, pushing my hands inside my pockets. "Let's leave."

I'd never been happier to be unseen as I pushed past the doors and stepped out onto the sunlit streets. Someone would've seen my armour of guilt.

* * *

 **Ta da! Sorry for any mistakes. I really hope you guys liked this chapter. Please do tell me your thoughts by dropping in a review! See you next chapter. (which I may upload at the end of the month, because I'm going to be very busy the next few weeks. I'll try and post the next one ASAP though :) )**

 **Buh bye.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys!**

 **I know. I know you want to kill me for uploading a chapter almost 6 months later. Believe me when I say I'm so incredibly sorry. I went on a complete hiatus off this story and that had a lot to do with exams, trips and a bit of a writers' block. I really do apologize.**

 **To make up for it, this chapter is _very_ long XD And also something I wrote over a solid stretch of 5 hours, and it's 1 AM by the time I'm posting this so I didn't proofread it through. I really hope you guys like to though. :)**

* * *

 **Eleven**

Halfway through crossing the street, I stopped walking.

Mavis realized I wasn't beside her just as she reached the other side, and glanced over her shoulder.

"If you keep standing there," she called finally, shouting over the usual morning chaos of Magnolia traffic. "You're going to get run over by a bus."

"Hardly the first time," I muttered underneath my breath.

I hesitated for just another second, and as the lights turned back to green, I swiftly jumped back onto the pavement. Mavis gave me a quizzical look from across the road.

My curiosity to take a closer look at the two mediators was slowly chipping away under the urge to clear the air with Lucy. I kept seeing her cold, hard expression in my mind, and I didn't think I'd be able to carry a polite conversation with the older brother without punching him in his ego as a potential outlet for my frustration.

I wasn't sure whether I need to distract myself from Lucy, or go back to her. Both seemed to be paradoxically tempting options.

"I'm going back," I yelled over the noise of people and cars and hawkers, already sensing Mavis' exasperation. "Can we join you later?"

Mavis was too short for me to make her out among the sea of people heading to work, but she became visible enough for me to watch her step back onto the street and calmly make her way through the moving vehicles. I winced, just a bit, as a cycle rode right through her unaffected body.

"This is hardly a tea party," she said finally, looking absolutely vexed. Well, I _probably_ wasn't the most easy going ghost out there, but then, we dead blokes can't always be perfect. "I thought we both wanted to—"

"Sorry." I shrugged, apologizing half heartedly. I was still thinking about Lucy. "I have to go."

I turned before Mavis could cause a lamppost to crash down on innocent bystanders and started to walk in the opposite direction.

I was almost entirely sure that I wouldn't be getting her help any time soon. And

given my hostility at the Piper's Hotel and Casino, I was doubtful whether anyone would let me in anymore either way.

But, Lucy.

* * *

As I pushed the door open to Belle's Corner, I began to feel uneasy.

And this was nothing to do with the free nausea that comes with bobbing around as a dead spirit all the time.

It was a raw, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach that Lucy Heartfilia had had enough of me. But, as usual, I refused to plan it through, and brushed past the other waitresses to where Lucy was standing.

She had her back to me, and when I touched her shoulder, she responded with a impatient "I said I'm coming, Cana."

"Luce."

She stiffened as she heard my voice. Without turning around, she said in a much harsher tone than before, "Piss off."

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what? For helping Natsu Dragneel humiliate me in front of my boss or for dumping the entire contents of your human life on me and expecting me to react _appropriately_?" The words tumbled out of her in an angry torrent, without a single breath punctuating the rush.

" _Lucy!"_ One the waitresses called from the kitchen, popping her head around the door. A gust of steam with a hint of pepper and butter blew out as it opened. "Hurry up."

I didn't want Lucy to be the next Ul for my own stupid decisions. Without really thinking—surprise, surprise—I reached over to the closest table and casually tipped over their plate of food.

What? He was picking at it anyway. Don't give me that look.

There was the expected crash and the splatter of food and the girl who'd called out widened her eyes for a moment before she ran to clear the mess. I grabbed Lucy's hand and pulled her through the backdoor.

As we came out into the sunny air in the back alley, Lucy threw up her hands and let out a groan of exasperation. "Are you _trying_ to make me lose my job?"

I was almost grinning. It had been a while since I sabotaged someone's food just for the heck of it. I used to do it a lot in the beginning, when I had started to realize I could never eat again.

I know. I'm absolutely angelic in nature.

"You were nowhere close to him, and they won't notice you're gone while they're cleaning that up."

Lucy had her hair in the messy bun she had worn when I first saw her. Her fingers were coated in bread crumbs and sauce and she had specks of flour on her nose.

With a sinking feeling, I realized she was beautiful.

She was also seething.

"Is this how you apologize? By messing up things? You seem to be pretty good at it." Lucy continued to vent without stopping, her suppressed at annoyance at Natsu's little scene slipping out in furious bits of speech.

"Tell me when you're done yelling," I said, attempting to sound cheerful, when really I was cowering inside. "Also, if you wanted to talk to the air _inside_ the pizzeria, I didn't mind. But that could confirm Natsu's accusations and I was aiming to save you the—"

"You weren't saving me _any_ trouble, Fullbuster." Lucy crossed her arms. We were alone here, and as long as she didn't scream loud enough, no one could eavesdrop from inside. "You're the fucking problem here, if you ask me."

My gaze dropped. "I'm sorry," I repeated lowly. "I mean it."

Lucy was still glaring at me, but her arms uncrossed and she unfroze a bit. Finally, she let out a whistle and looked up at the sky, leaning against the backdoor. "I—thought of something," she said, slowly. Her voice was gentler now, the way she spoke to everyone but me.

"Yes?" I prompted.

When Lucy looked back at me, I almost took a step back at the hurt in her eyes. "It's just a theory. I was thinking about it, on the way back from the graveyard."

Everything seemed very still now. I could still hear the murmur of eating and clinking of plates from the pizzeria, but it was like an insignificant buzz in the background.

"Lucy?" I said, when she didn't continue.

She raised two fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose, looking tired. "Come here in two hours. We're visiting a friend."

* * *

Most people like to spend their free time reading a book or going kayaking.

Me? I spend it stealing bagels.

By the time I was back at the pizzeria, I was holding two paper bags filled with bagels and doughnuts in one hand and a cup of macchiato in the other. I had come to notice that Lucy practically fed on these, before I came to the conclusion that she couldn't cook a meal to save her life.

This, of course, had followed an hour of mockery which she ended by pouring her coffee all over my ectoplasmic pants.

When Lucy stepped out, dressed out of her uniform into a Metallica T-shirt and shorts, she looked almost pleased to see me already there.

Then again, I lacked the expertise to distinguish between her looks of happiness and the looks she reserved specially to remind someone she wouldn't hesitate to castrate them.

She raised an eyebrow at the food. "What are you doing with those? You're dead."

"Such a gentle way to put it," I said in sugar tones. Secretly though, I was relieved to see that she was teasing me again. I'd screwed up so many things that connected her, I was afraid I'd lose her for good. "Here's your bagel."

Lucy frowned as she took the paper bag from me. "Please don't tell me you stole this."

I grinned at her half-apologetically.

She didn't look too amused. "Which bakery?"

" _What?_ You can't be serious, Heartfilia."

"Gray, which one? Let's walk there."

And so we did. Feeling confused at her lack of mischief, I led the way to the cramped little bakery and pointed at it. I watched her, still holding the bags, as she slipped around the corner and quickly put the money on the counter, before anyone could notice what she was paying for.

She began to walk towards me, jaw set, and I felt a sudden twinge of guilt.

When I was still alive, money had never been a problem for me. Maybe that was why I'd let myself get spoilt for a while. I'd never had to work after school, and nor had Ul, especially not as a waitress.

I'd never really given much thought so the few clothes Lucy owned, or my tiny apartment out of all places for her to live in. I hadn't cared about where she was working, because I'd been too caught up in her and her abilities. I hadn't even considered how she only got one bagel and nothing else in the mornings, or how she refused to buy anything other than what she had to decorate.

Maybe that was why I hadn't even begun to understand how important it was for her to pay for what she was getting. That was probably why she made such a fuss whenever I nicked something because I'd never really had to care. And she always had.

I changed topic of conversation as she came back and took the coffee from me. "So, which friend are we visiting?"

"Well, she's certainly alive, for one."

"Oh, thank God for that." I rolled my eyes. "What's your theory?"

She became a bit quiet, extending the pause as we walked with a long sip. "It's...well, I'm—" she started to fumble for words. "I need to ask my friend—her name's Mirajane—something before I can tell you."

I frowned. "Lucy, how serious is this? Is this something to do with what I told you? Because we never have to discuss my life again, if it makes you uncom—"

"Don't." She looked up at me, speaking over the rim of the paper cup so that no one would see her talking to nothingness. "Don't speculate. It's hard enough for me to consider this."

"You're giving me an awful lot of detail here."

There was something leveling in her gaze. "When we first met," she said finally. "All you needed was a mediator, right? Someone who could understand you?"

"That's not fair," I objected. "You're my friend. At least, I hope so."

She ignored that. Because, naturally, Lucy Heartfilia likes to make people feel at home by leaving them subtle cliffhangers at the end of every sentence.

"None of that crap." She hailed a cab as we turned a bend, and I couldn't hear most of what she said as we got in. "...and I just want you to remember, that I'm talking to you as a mediator about this, okay?"

Giving the cabbie directions, she sat back and tapped her ear as if she was speaking into an earpiece for the benefit of the driver. "Just don't freak out, alright?"

"Who, me?" I raised a hand over my heart. " _Never_. _"_

* * *

I let out an unmanly yelp as the cab drew up in front of a house. Lucy shook her head at me as she handed the cabbie the fare and then followed me out onto the sidewalk.

"I know this place!" I started excitedly, pointing at the large two storey house. "It's the Strauss's! I come here sometimes, you know, into their library—it's all psychic nonsense, though, do you…" I trailed off as Lucy cocked an eyebrow at me. "Um."

"Is there any place you _haven't_ broken into?"

"Wait, so you know the people who live here?"I asked instead. "The Strauss sisters?"

"Mirajane and Lisanna were my first friends in Magnolia," Lucy explained as we walked up the driveway. (I'd usually just sneak in through a window, but I'm guessing that wouldn't buy Lucy's stamp of approval.) "Lis was there at my birthday, but I don't think you'll—"

She was cut off as the door swung open, and a girl with pale features and short silvery hair appeared. She was dressed in appallingly loud colours of yellow and green, which contrasted ferociously with her baby blue flip-flops.

I recognized her face immediately. I _did_ remember her, not just from Lucy's party, but from glimpses of her and her older sister around the house. I'd only come into their library twice or thrice, but sometimes, I'd felt like someone was watching me without _really_ watching me. And I'd always looked up to catch a flash of silver hair or the hem of a nightgown.

"Lucy," she greeted warmly. "Mira kept saying you'd be coming."

Lucy grimaced. Despite her odd friends, she still seemed skeptical of any psychic abilities. "Doing good, Lisanna?"

She merely smiled in reply, and opened the door wider to let us in. I entered, padding silently across the familiar wooden floors and into their library on the right of the hallway. I heard Lucy chat a bit with the younger sister, making small talk here and there and refusing lemonade.

I was looking at the well known books, running my fingers along their frayed spines. I glanced at the book which had given me information about guides, and at the several ones I'd pored over trying to understand what I'd become when I'd first been led here by Piper's ghostly granddad.

Two sets of footsteps entered the room and I turned, almost having forgotten Lucy was here this time and it wasn't broad daylight. For a minute, I'd been back in those chilly winter nights where I'd sat huddled in a corner, flipping through book after book, desperate to understand.

This was Mirajane Strauss. She seemed a little less maniacal than her sister (and I say that based on her milder taste in clothing) but wore the same serene expression.

"Is he here with you then?" she asked brightly as she came in, looking directly at me but with an unfocused look. Lucy had clearly finished up on a quick preamble as to her sudden appearance in the hallway itself.

Lucy was fidgeting with her nose, the way she did when the atmosphere was tense. "Yeah. Right in front of you."

Then she crossed the floor and stood next to me. "Gray, this is Mirajane. Mira, Gray Fullbuster." She said it in a controlled, professional voice, as if introducing ghosts to psychics was something she did daily. "Don't say hello, it'll just make everything all the more awkward."

Mira and I burst out laughing at the same time and Lucy breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

Then she moved towards the long wooden table in the centre of the library and pulled out a chair for me, seating herself at the one next to it. Mirajane cocked her head once at me, still unable to see me, and then abruptly shut the library doors behind her.

"I never knew you'd guided before, Lucy," she murmured as she sat down with us. "I mean, I always felt a strange energy around you but—"

"But I'd never buy it, I know," Lucy interrupted, getting more and more restless. "Look, Mira, I have to ask you something."

Mirajane fingered her long locks, looking thoughtful, and then turned in my general direction. "Lemonade?" she asked politely.

Lucy gritted her teeth. " _No_ ," she answered, impatient. "Mira, listen to me."

"But I need to listen to him."

The Strauss girl's words dropped onto the table like a heavy weight, sucking out all the noise from our surroundings. Lucy stopped midway through framing her question and clasped her hands. "Mira?"

Mirajane, however, wasn't looking at Lucy. Suddenly, she began a strange jig with her fingertips on the table, dragging them across the wooden surface until they were centimeters away from mine.

I looked at Lucy, who shrugged.

"I can't feel anything," Mira mused.

"Well, I'm telling you, you can't if you're not a med—" Again, Lucy was cut off as Mira shook her head violently, silvery white locks flying everywhere. "Hold his hand, Lucy."

"What?"

"Please. I can't help you with anything if I can't listen."

After a long moment, I felt Lucy's hand on mine, warm and human. I closed my eyes without thinking, relishing the sudden feel of her skin.

Then, just for one fleeting second, I felt Mirajane's fingertips on our linked hands. My eyes flew open as both Lucy and Mirajane withdrew their hands, Lucy gasping and Mirajane humming under her breath.

"What—what happened?" I looked worriedly at Lucy, who was sweating, her blonde hair sticking to the back of her neck.

"I thought so," Mirajane said, fixing her piercing blue eyes on Lucy. "I thought I could feel your energy on his."

Lucy didn't say anything, her lips pursed.

"What did you hear?" I asked, before remembering it wouldn't matter. Lucy repeated the question instead.

"Well, I usually never deal with spirit energies," Mira declared. "But if you've come up with what I think you have, Lucy, then it's going to be hard to guide him."

The temperate seemed to drop a few degrees, and I'm _dead_.

Lucy's eyes hardened, her hands fisting into a tight ball of white knuckles. "Why?"

"Like I said." And Mirajane looked incredibly sad as she leant forward. "Your energies are too linked for a spirit and a human. Have you tapped into it before?"

"Once." As she said it, I remembered the sunlit afternoon in the park with Mavis, where Lucy had tested her exterminate-a-ghoul powers on me.

"It's—harder. If the mediator's energy is in close proximity with the spirit's…" Mirajane faltered. She looked at me again, her blue eyes sort of unsettling. "You didn't even need to move on. How is it you are in such close range of her powers?"

I pondered it. I couldn't think of a single ghost who had actually spent time with a mediator _before_ they sought someone to guide them through the final process of death. That was why most of us hadn't known anything about it.

"We—kind of live together?" I tried.

Lucy didn't crack a smile at my response. She drew back Mira's attention by rapping her fingers on the table. "Mira? Do you want to know what I needed to ask?"

The white-haired girl nodded at her. "But it's going to be so hard. Surely, you knew that?"

" _I haven't told you yet._ "

All these unfinished statements were beginning to put me off. _I_ wasn't a mind reader. How were sane ghosts supposed to make sense of this half spoken conversation?

"Sorry. Go on."

Lucy drew in a deep breath. "Okay. So most—spirits. They have incomplete wishes, correct? Lingering work?"

"Correct."

"Things like—well, finding love? Going to a place? Holding someone else's hand when _they_ died?"

Mirajane didn't say anything. She continued to play with her hair, listening intently. "And I'm guessing there are some of you who don't really want to do this, do you?" It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. "To trace back what they needed in their human lives. It's easier this way, right?"

Easier. _Bullshit._

But a dark corner of my still heart knew she was right. I didn't want to face a force strong enough to send me into the deepest part of death.

"I was…wondering." Lucy's voice was small. "If it had to do anything with regret."

"Regret," Mira echoed, more of an agreement than a question.

"What if it's something a—spirit's afraid of? If they do it, will it help them move on?"

Mirajane pondered this. Outside, the sun began to dip itself into scarlet and orange, melting away into twilight.

"All these spirits," she said finally. "Who didn't find a guide. Any help. It's because they're afraid of _how_."

Lucy nodded, even though she looked slightly crestfallen. "I know you've never acted a guide before. But you know how fear works, right?"

Some sort of an unspoken memory flashed between the two.

"Then you need to do it for him." Mira said her next words in a bleak, flat tone, as if I wasn't there listening. "Without a mediator, he'll never know _what_ he needs to do. That's why the ghosts who don't yet, can't ever move on, can they?" And I was suddenly struck with the horror of it all. "How can they? They can't link energies with a mediator until they really are going, and they can't go until they're told where to go."

"Excuse me," I said. "Can someone please explain all this rubbish to me?"

Lucy turned to me slowly, her fingers still clutched tightly in an interlocking grip. "You don't need me to go on. You need me _before_ going on. Or, you're locked here forever."

"It's because your energies are linked," Mira explained. "There's an emotional line, you understand?"

"No," I said bluntly. "I most certainly do not."

Mira got up then with a creak of the chair, and turned to the bookshelves, searching for what she needed. As she did so, I looked back at Lucy. She had her head in her hands, and wasn't moving.

The older Strauss sister neatly slid out a small, pudgy looking book out and carried to the table with her. It was a drab sort of book, something I wouldn't have noticed because of its tiny, patched dark blue cover and moth eaten pages. It looked battered, something which didn't belong with the rest of the shiny new pieces of information on the shelves.

"This was my mother's," Mira said, as she turned the pages. "And a bedtime story for her crazy daughters."

Huh. Didn't look like much of a bedtime storybook to me, but whatever floated the psychic's boat.

She reached a page, scanned it, and then looked up. "Sometimes," she started, staring at me, talking in the tone of someone reading out a story. "There would be—agitated spirits. Most can't _find_ mediators, you see. They either find them seconds before they use them, or have the guides find them instead."

I remembered that it was Lucy who'd entered my apartment, and the not the other way around. And that Mavis had been as shocked as me to see her, never having found a mediator before.

"Well, these spirits. Sometimes—and very, very rarely—they would be able to hunt down a guide before their time. And the more their agitation grew, the harder it would be for a mediator to control them. It might end up killing the mediator."

Mira paused and glanced at Lucy. "And other times," she continued. "And this too, _very_ rarely, the prolonged contact between a spirit and a guide would start to connect their energy lines together. We all have them," she added, waving a hand. "This might happen if a mediator and a ghost are forced to be together, or if they can co-exist, or even if a mediator is strong enough to resist an angry spirit."

"I'm not an angry spirit," I pointed out, just to settle the matter. They were making my peaceful self sound rather violent and my fragile heart felt insulted.

Lucy, in a hollow voice, echoed my words.

"I know," Mira soothed. "Exactly my point. It's because you two can co-exist without using up any powers that your energy links keeps getting stronger. Now if you had known how to go on, you wouldn't have lasted this long. You would have found a guide and moved on the second you knew."

Mira shut the book, massaging her temples as if the words were giving her a headache. "But if, at some point, the mediator who the spirit needs to move on _does_ succeed—well." Mirajane looked at Lucy, her gaze sorrowful. "The energy link will try to resist. But a spirit can't be stopped once they're ready to move on—and the process is agony for the mediator."

I could feel every part of my body freezing, slowly grasping what she was saying.

"The link is being torn, you see," Mira went on. "It's painful enough for a momentary energy link when a spirit moves on through a mediator. That's why it always hurts a little. For a link built over a long period—it can destroy the mediator, you see."

Very quietly, Lucy raised her head from behind her splayed fingers and looked at Mirajane. My eyes were on Lucy, staring at her as if everything depended on how long I could stare at her face. I felt Mirajane's gaze on me.

Everything was silent. _Deadly_ silent.

* * *

I would like to make one humble declaration.

It is very occasionally that I yell. And it is _never_ that I yell at Lucy Heartfilia (excluding our hourly bickering).

Lucy was paper white as she walked down the driveway. Mirajane and Lisanna had exchanged hugs and goodbyes and more offers of lemonade before we left, while I hopped from one foot to another, waiting to get out.

Outside, darkness had fallen and the lamps were alit. As we searched for a cab, I continued to ask Lucy over and over again in a maddeningly loud voice—"What happened in there? What did you mean? _What was your theory_?"

To all my loud questions, Lucy's reply was silence. She flinched a bit whenever I took my voice a scale higher, and though I felt terrible, I needed answers.

The entire ride in the cab back to the apartment was basically a very noisy ghost and an annoyingly quiet blonde. Lucy just kept staring out of the window at the lights flashing past, clearly thinking of something and tuning me out and I felt sure I was _very_ close to that 'agitated spirit' stage the Strauss freak had been referring to.

Finally I gave up, exhausted. I obviously wasn't getting any proper explanations tonight.

The pizzeria was happy and bustling as we stepped out onto its curb. I could see a group celebrating something by popping champagne bottles and all of it looked rather distant and detached all of a sudden. The strange mystic air inside the Strauss house didn't seem to have left us as we trudged up the stairs to the apartment on top of Belle's.

None of the lights had been lit this night. Lucy stumbled up the stairs behind me as I pushed open our unlocked front door and entered the room first.

As I stepped inside, the first thing I heard was the door shut behind us as Lucy followed. Then, before I could flip the lights on, I suddenly felt something warm against my back.

"—Lucy?"

There was no sound.

I glanced back over my shoulder to see her blonde hair pressed against my back as her arms came around my chest in an odd embrace.

"Are you okay?" Everything was still coated in darkness, and I couldn't make out what was wrong. The only light was the faint glimmer of moonlight filtering through our tiny window and making an uneven glow on the floor.

Lucy's arms just held me tighter, pulling be back towards herself.

Something had changed tonight. Something important, and I'd felt it as we left the Strauss' house. And I could feel it now, in the desperate, urgent grip Lucy had on me, as if I'd disappear if she let go.

Finally, at a painstakingly slow pace, I gently loosened her arms and turned around. She was still a head shorter than me and I had to bend slightly to try and look her in the eye. "Look, we do need to talk about this, okay? If you don't want to right now, it's fine. Don't worry too—"

But she shook her head, still mute, and simply drew her arms around me again. This time, I didn't try to break free. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her slight body too, enveloped in the darkness.

For once, I felt like she genuinely needed to hold onto me and not the other way round.

Her face was pressed against my collar, breathing shallowly against it. It was around a few millennia before she spoke. "Can we please stay like this? For just a little while more."

For some reason, my mind screamed that I wanted us to stay like this for much longer than a little while.

I nodded. The moment felt raw, something so fragile and vulnerable in the dark.

Lucy's arms tightened around my neck. "I'm sorry for getting so mad all the time. I'm sorry for all the screaming and the glass breaking." She half laughed; a short sound that ended quickly. "I'm sorry I'm a shitty mediator."

The uneasy knot in the pit of my stomach kept getting bigger. "Luce, why are you talking like this—like, you're saying goodbye?"

"We have to. Everyone has to, sooner or later." Lucy's hair brushed against my collarbone as she looked up at me through her lashes. I could see teardrops latching onto them. "Let's be glad we at least get to say it."

Without warning, I felt a sudden confused anger roar inside my head. I couldn't believe she wouldn't tell what was going on, and was telling me goodbye instead of explaining.

I couldn't _believe_ her.

" _No._ " I stepped back, pushing her away from me. She lost balance for a second, looking shocked and hurt as she recovered.

"No, Lucy, I'm not playing this little psychic game." I fought to keep my voice level, noticing how weak she looked for a change. "Why are you saying this?"

Lucy was trembling all over. I was trying immensely hard to keep my temper in check, lest something else in this apartment smashed itself to smithereens because of me.

"There's nothing to tell you," she said at last, sounding a bit shaky. "I think I know how to help you—as—as a mediator," she took a deep breath. "And I'm scared, alright? I'm scared that I'm right."

There too many thoughts making my head fuzzy to completely grasp everything she was saying. It was already all I could do not to reach out and wipe the steadily increasing flow of tears down her pale cheeks. "What—help me how?"

"To move on." Lucy was speaking in barely a whisper. It was hardly audible, even a few metres apart. "I've learnt things about you by now, haven't I? And I—well I'm almost sure I know what you need to do."

Realization crashed into me like an oncoming train. "What happens if you tell me?"

She just looked at me. Because I already knew. I knew that if she told me what I'd needed to do, I'd have no other purpose left. I would have no choice but to unblock all the human memories and go back to the unfinished one.

And if I finished it—

"I can't go on," I was speaking out loud before I knew it, hearing the shock in my own voice. "Not with your help. The energy link, your friend said it'll destroy a mediator…"

When she spoke, Lucy sounded absolutely determined. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"Lucy, you can't tell me—I don't want to know, alright?"

I saw pity in her eyes. I wasn't sure if it was for me or herself. "It's just going to be more painful for both of us. For me to keep it from you is…selfish. And I'm not even sure yet."

"I don't want you to be sure. I don't want to know." I repeated the words like a broken record. A madman desperate to get away from the truth. "I want you to be selfish."

In the darkness, all I could see were Lucy's dark brown eyes glitter with a fierce, sad light. "I want to be selfish too."

And when she closed the gap between us and kissed me, I felt as if I belonged to nothing and to nowhere but Lucy, right there in that tiny dark room. When she kissed me, I tasted our shared anger, desperation and a sudden urgency to be as tightly wound to one another as possible. My hands gripped her waist, and hers laced into my hair and I silently kissed away her tears. When she kissed me, I stopped thinking about what was right and what wasn't, because all that really mattered were her lips on mine, her faint perfume filling up my head, all her unspoken fears in that one single kiss.

It was the saddest and the most beautiful moment in, and after, my whole life.

* * *

 **That's it! (yes, I know, _finally_ ). I really hope you liked the chapter and please, please do drop in a review. It really encourages me to keep writing. Thanks for reading. :) **


	12. Chapter 12

**I HAVE EXPLANATIONS.**

 **Okay no, basically midterms and well. To make up for it, here's an extra long chapter! I'm really sorry for the late update, but my midterms just ended a couple of days ago. My updates will be a bit irregular for the rest of this year too because I have several examinations going on and school takes up a lotta time so yeah. :P Anyway, thank you for the reviews/follows/favourites, they brighten my day.**

 **Happy reading humans. ;)**

* * *

 **Twelve**

We were woken by the unholy cries of a woman.

I had leaned back against the wall for just a second, but apparently I'd somehow transported my ghostly self into an unconscious ghostly realm, because it definitely felt like being jerked awake from sleep.

I cracked my eyes open.

Okay. I stand corrected. It was the unholy _womanly_ cries of a very fat dude.

"What," I said slowly, standing up from where I'd been squatting and raising both eyebrows at the bloke standing in the middle of our room, "The actual hell do you think you're doing?"

He stopped emitting that ghastly sound long enough to glance at me as if he'd just noticed there _were_ other beings around him, and then closed his eyes in concentration as he returned to his pathetic pitiful moaning. I noticed he had a shaved head. It made him look like an egg.

I massaged my temples, feeling a lot groggier than someone dead really should. I figured the dude was a ghost, because it was only a ghost that found it perfectly reasonable to wail in the middle of a room where _some people were trying to rest_.

Also, Lucy Heartfilia was snoring away on her bed, a pillow over her face and a hand over the pillow.

God. I can't believe I kissed that freak.

A very tiny part of me started to hyperventilate at the memory. It was only a few hours ago. But at some point, sitting awkwardly across each other and trying to reason our way out of it, we'd dozed off.

Dozing off, however, seemed too mild a term when I looked at Lucy. She resembled a very small hibernating bear.

"Hey, Heartfilia!" I had to shout over the pathetic old guy standing between us. Geez, why did every guy that croaked in Magnolia have to be a sorry bag of shit? (Yes, that includes Zeref.) "Wake up!"

Obviously, she didn't.

I crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underneath my sneakers against all Rules of Ghoul. On the way, I shot a dirty look at Egg who now had his face upturned to the ceiling as he went on.

I bent down and pulled the pillow out of Lucy's face. "Heartfilia. There's a ghost here to see you."

There was a muffle as Lucy shifted mid-snore. Then she groaned. "What now?"

"I _said_ ," I repeated, almost yelling. "There's a _ghost_ here to see you, and if you don't do your mediator shit on him now, I might need to stab Natsu with a fork."

"Why _Natsu_?"

"Who else would I want to stab with a fork?" I asked in obvious tones.

Lucy sat up, still tangled in the bed sheets, rubbing at her mussed up hair. I withdrew my hands from her shoulders immediately, and worked furiously at keeping my eyes level with hers and not looking at her lips instead. Or further south.

I _told_ you I was a gentleman.

She crossed her arms and turned to the ghost. The other one. "What do you _want_?"

The idiot stopped with his painful crying and swiveled his head around until he found us. At first, he didn't say anything. In fact, once he'd stopped making that noise, and was silently staring at Lucy with his dark eyes, I instinctively shifted a bit closer to her, angling myself in a way that I could stop him if he tried to do something funny.

Then: "They told me I could go home."

Lucy seemed to be all out of the usual empathy she had while dealing with lost spirits. She rolled her eyes and threw off the bedcovers, jumping out onto the floor with a loud _thud_. "Brilliant," she said. "Who did, exactly?"

Egg shrugged. "At the hotel. I was searching for Valerie all night long, but I couldn't find her. They told me I could go home once I saw her." His pale features brightened considerably. "I _did_ find her, she was right—"

"Yes, alright, that's a beautiful story," Lucy grumbled. She stepped forward and grabbed both of his hands. He looked shocked. "What are you doing?"

Lucy sighed. I watched her, ready to help, but I know she wouldn't need it. I was slightly amused and also a bit surprised at how confident she seemed. Or maybe it was the desire to get back to sleep. Whatever the case, she would almost pass as an expert on doing this.

 _Damn it,_ her lips were distracting.

"Did you see her again? Valerie?" Lucy asked Egg.

"Yes…" He drawled.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Yes?"

Lucy gripped his fingers, looking intent. "Okay. Go home."

Egg closed his eyes. I watched hard, paying attention to all the details I'd ignored when I'd seen Lucy do the same thing for Wendy.

I'd been looking at Egg, as his confusion started to melt away into a look of longing, and then into relief, but then I caught Lucy flinch a bit in my peripheral vision. And then my eyes were on her, Mirajane Strauss's words echoing in my head.

 _It's painful enough for a momentary energy link when a spirit moves on through a guide._

Well. No wonder mediators were always in a bad mood.

Lucy scrunched her eyes shut as Egg passed through her. He'd been standing right in the centre of the room, in the moonlight. As he moved, the patch of light became visible again. Lucy dropped her empty hands, panting a bit, hands resting on her knees. I remembered she'd been much worse with Wendy.

I stood in the shadows, near the bed.

She straightened up, and glanced over her shoulder. "God, Gray," she remarked. "Don't lurk there like a ghost."

I didn't smile. Even though it was kind of funny. "Did it hurt?"

Whatever little amount of humour had been on her face was wiped clean by a poker face. "What?"

I wasn't sure how to ask her without making her think I was trying to victimize her. She seemed to take every concern I expressed in her benefit to be pity.

But then again, it's not like I think before I speak. I don't roll that way.

"That old woman," I started. "Wendy. This broken record. Does it always hurt?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, Lucy sighed loudly for the second time that night. "I'm clearly not getting any sleep tonight," she mumbled, loud enough for me to hear. Then she sat down on the floor, leaning against the in-built kitchen counter. "Come here."

Hesitant, I went and sank down next to her. We were only a few inches apart in this tiny space beside the bedside table, our knees touching. And I was astonishingly conscious of this fact.

"Tell me," I urged, when she continued to examine the wood grains on the floor with great interest.

"Is it because of what I told you?" she countered.

"Nooo." I rolled my eyes. "Absolutely not."

She glared at me. "I know what I said about being selfish, but that was in a moment of extreme weakness—"

" _Oh_." I interjected sarcastically.

Lucy ignored me. "—and I'm going to tell you, and you're going to do what you needed to when you were alive, and then you're going to hold my hands and try not to blow up in flames."

I heard the Lucy I'd first met in this calm, matter of fact voice which was clearly shielding all her emotions beneath. I looked at her look at her hands, and without warning a sudden pang of sorrow went through me at the thought of possibly seeing her for the last time if she told me.

"I don't want to move on," I said in a quiet voice. "Not ever."

But Lucy, who was sensible and understanding and stupidly brave, all the things I'd never been, tilted her face to look at me and smiled a sad smile. "Gray, do you know what ' _ever'_ means? How long will you stay like this? Ten years? A hundred?"

"I can—"

"You were seventeen, and you'll always look like seventeen," she interrupted, but not rudely. Just in that practical voice which could overpower the vulnerable Lucy who'd kissed me. I'd always wished I could do that, but logic never was one of my top priorities. "You'll never be able to eat or drink. You'll only be able to talk to mediators." Lucy sucked in a breath, running her fingers through her hair. "And even if, in a parallel universe, you wanted to stick around with me, I'd grow old and die one day too, you know. It's life. You can't mess with the living _and_ the dead, Gray."

She was saying everything Mavis and I always thought but never said aloud, fearing it would destroy us into something beyond what we were already were. Thinking about it made me want to throw myself off a bridge, only to realize it wouldn't matter. It was a vicious cycle.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't know how.

"Well," I said, fighting to sound as if I wasn't spiraling into a dark hole of despair. "If you stab Ickle Dragneel and then die, we can hang around together with unfinished jobs."

Lucy laughed a bit shakily. "No, I'm pretty sure that'll be a direct line to hell."

We fell silent for a few pregnant moments. I wasn't sure what time it was, but it seemed to have stopped around us, in this tiny moonlit apartment for two.

"You know," I said suddenly. "You and I are _very_ depressing members of today's youth."

Lucy cocked an eyebrow in bemusement. "Well, our conversations aren't always about unicorns, but we do try."

I shook my head and sprung up on my feet. I was feeling strange and hollow inside, and I hated it. Like I always said, I didn't _do_ depressing for too long. I needed to draw both our attentions elsewhere, away from topics of eternal pointlessness and death.

I walked over to Lucy's desk, and sifted through her collection of music. Boy, she had good taste.

We'd never discussed music. Or books. Or anything normal people discussed. I bit my lip, a bit angry at myself.

I grinned as I found a familiar album and dragged it out. There was no player here, but there was an ancient radio with a CD player in a corner of the desk. Lucy peered over the counter as the radio hummed when I turned it on and pushed the CD in.

 _Vincent_ began to play, and Lucy gave a small laugh of happiness. "Don McLean," she said contentedly, leaning back. I'd made sure it wasn't loud enough to wake Ickle Dragneel up.

"How about some of that wine?" I asked lightly, rubbing my hands. "Which I cannot drink, obviously."

All she said was: "Back cupboard."

Nodding, I reached out and took the hideously orange coffee mugs from the cupboard in one hand and the wine bottle in the other.

"How do you even remember we have that?" Lucy called.

"Are you joking?" I uncorked the bottle, sloshing it down messily into the cups, knowing very well I wouldn't be able to taste a drop. But hey, illusions work almost as well as the real thing. "It's the only thing you ever had the balls to steal."

"Haha." I caught a very rude hand gesture in the corner of my eye and suppressed a smile.

" _Starry, starry night_ ," I sang softly to her as I sat back down, and she giggled as she took a mug. It was so odd for Lucy to look this way, so young and happy. I pressed closer to her, listening to the guitar and again, very aware of Lucy's knee against mine and her shoulder brushing against my arm.

She made a noise of complaint at the orange mug again, but ghosts can hardly be choosers.

"Just drink," I told her. "Mugs are the best we have."

She didn't reply, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as the chorus washed over us. We sat there without a word, listening to the music play in the background. It was one of the most peaceful moments inside this place.

I felt strange— _safe_ would be a good word for it. In my own skin, dead or not, and for once, I let my mind show me what it wanted to as I stared ahead blankly, the mug limp in my hands. I let myself think of Ul and of cruel snowy streets and of Lucy Heartfilia's flushed cheeks in the dawn at a graveyard. I felt my eyes close too, the images too bright in my head.

I didn't hear Lucy shift next to me, which was why her sudden touch jerked me back to the present.

I drew in a breath sharply as I felt warm fingers on my face. Lucy touched my cold forehead tentatively, slowly tracing her way down my temple, my cheeks, my jaw. She stopped at the corner of my lips. I opened my eyes and moved my head to look at her, turning my face into her small hand, breathing in her faint perfume. Her brown eyes held mine, betraying nothing as she continued to slowly move her fingers over my lips. They parted underneath her touch.

A shiver went down my spine as she threaded her fingers into my hair, running them through the tangled locks, singing along under her breath.

Finally, her hand stopped at the back of my neck. I realized my own hands were trembling as I reached out to brush against her leg. She tugged ever so slightly, and I felt myself leaning down to kiss her for the second time.

Only this time, I didn't pull away, and nor did she. I cupped her face as she pressed herself back against the counter. Our lips never broke contact as I followed her, kneeling right in front of her crossed legs as I heard her moan softly into the kiss. We were pushed right up against the counter wall in an uncomfortably painful position, but all I could sense were her lips on mine.

My left hand moved down to capture her free hand, intertwining our fingers together in a sudden grip lock. She shifted quickly for just a second, and suddenly I was trapped against the cool metal surface of the counter as she kissed me with greater ferocity, as if it was the first and last she'd ever get. Our joined hands slammed against the cold counter as Lucy pushed against my body, legs on either side of mine. I groaned as she pulled away for a heartbeat, and then fisted a hand into my shirt and leant in to lock lips again, forehead against forehead, eyelashes against eyelashes.

It was probably several years before we broke away, gasping for breath, our hands still entwined. But I couldn't go back to where I'd been at a _polite_ distance from her. Instead, I leaned in even closer and kissed her jaw, and then her neck. Her grip around me tightened as I breathed into the crook of her neck.

And then, in a flash of a confusing moment, she sat up and pushed me away. She did it gently, but I took the hint and sat in a somewhat awkward position opposite her.

"No, stop," she said, panting hard. Her cheeks were flushed. "God."

I coughed nervously, scooching away to a comfortable distance. "Moment of weakness again?" I suggested after a while.

Lucy was still blushing furiously. I watched as she roughly pushed the hair away from her fair and groaned. "What are we doing?"

"I believe we were—"

"No, I mean what are _we_ ," she added emphatically. "Doing. Us. Human and ghost."

I heard her. I hadn't paused even once to actually consider it in the heat of the moment, but I agreed us making out was messed up on a number of levels.

One of them, for instance, might include the fact that we were throwing ourselves at each other in a sudden rush of screwed up hormones following the rather distressing thought of never seeing each other again.

It hurt just a little to think that was the only plausible reason why Lucy Heartfilia, out of all people, had kissed me. But I couldn't see why else she'd want to.

I mean, all she'd done was tell me how much he hated me for the last three months.

"Gray?" She snapped her fingers, breaking me out of my reverie.

"I don't know," I admitted, clenching and unclenching a fist. "Sorry for the er—attack."

I was taken aback to see a corner of her lips twitch. "That's not how I saw it, but alright."

"I won't lie," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Kissing you feels pretty good, Heartfilia."

Lucy's cheeks reddened even further. I was feeling very conflicted between an urge to laugh at seeing her this way, and a need to _really_ talk about whatever mess we'd got ourselves into in a few hours' time.

"Back to flirting, are we?" she asked rhetorically. Then she shook her head and leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. "Must have been the wine."

I snorted as a reply. "My mug's still full."

"Then it must have been _you_ ," she snapped, before clapping a hand to her mouth in horror.

Internally, my ego flopped around hopefully.

"I mean—"

"I think," I cut across, speaking slowly and choosing my words with care. "That I probably wanted to kiss you for a while now."

Lucy stared at me. How encouraging. "What?"

 _Damn you, Mavis_ , I thought. She'd been right all along. There was more than one reason that I'd blatantly refused to leave this apartment. I felt an odd sense of relief at saying something I hadn't even _known_ I'd been dying to say.

Becoming friends with my freakish roommate had been an imagination far-fetched enough.

Actually starting to fall in love with her fight by fight had definitely not been one of my worries.

"I know how fucked up this sounds," I confessed, crossing my hands over the back of my neck as I looked down. "I know that I'm dead, and telling you that I well—like you isn't exactly very—well it sounds kind of toxic, I guess," referring to her choice of words at the graveyard. "And you're going to wake up in the morning and regret kissing a ghost, but—"

I was abruptly interrupted as Lucy suddenly reached out and placed her hands on my shoulders. I looked up to see pain in her eyes. "I don't regret anything," she said. "It was unexpected, but—it was something I wouldn't mind having more of."

And that was when she dropped her hands and shrugged and said the next few words. "But you're right. You're—well, Gray, you're _dead_." And in a rush, that one tiny word seemed to crush me in a horrific sense that I really was. Nothing would bring me back to life. "How can anything make sense?"

There was a brief silence.

"I loathe this so much." My voice was shaking when I finally spoke. "I hate knowing that I'm in love with you and that I'll never be able to do anything about it."

Behind us, the radio choked and sputtered and the next song stopped midway through. There was no music anymore.

Lucy's eyes were wide. "You're in love with me?" And then, before waiting for an answer I'd probably be too embarrassed to give anyway, she went on. "But I'm a moody, temperamental arse."

Oh good, it wasn't just me. Phew.

"Yeah," I agreed—yes, that was very kind of me, I know—and then tilted her face up towards mine. "And you're also brave. And kind. And _good_. And do you have any idea," I finished in an urgent whisper. "How beautiful you are?"

Her eyes softened as I saw traitor tears at their corners. She bit her lip and looked away.

"Just to be clear," she said in a hoarse voice, having waited long enough for me to seriously consider jumping out of the window to save myself any further hormonal mortification. "I'm not having sex with you just because you said that."

And just like that, the bubble broke and the atmosphere heaved a sigh of relief and I burst out laughing. "You little vixen."

She stuck out her tongue at me, but her expression was still gentle, her eyes still a whirlwind of emotions. "If it helps." She winked. "I think you're beautiful too."

"Geez, _really_?"

I wasn't prepared for her to lean over and kiss me briefly, almost a brush, as she stood up. "Yes, really."

I didn't protest when she picked up the second mug of wine and made her way to the bed.

Apparently, drunken Lucy liked me better than normal Lucy.

* * *

"Wake up."

I'm not that experienced with ghost-human interfaces, but most human beings sure don't kick a ghost when said ghost is standing over their bed at 4AM and yelling at them in the creepiest way he can.

Alzack, your friendly neighbourhood mediator, not only footed me in the groin when he jerked awake, he also recognized me faster than one would have cross analyzed an ectoplasm in the dark.

"Oh, Gods." He sounded mad. "It's _you_."

I already wanted to hit him in places he didn't know how to use properly yet.

"If you're done stating the obvious," I said, reaching over to flip on a lamp, illuminating the both of us in a light that was too harsh for the dimness. "I wanted to talk to you. Without either of us stabbing the other, because as you know, it'll only get bloody for one of us," I added.

"Fuck you."

"Hm. You wish." I smirked as I dodged another aggressively aimed kick. "Look, I just want to _talk_ , alright? I promise to keep it verbal."

Alzack looked like a mess of a person, with his black dreadlocks leaving only inches of his face bare. His uncovered eye glared up at me as he set his jaw, crossed his arms and sighed angrily. "Fine. What do you want? I already told you and your little friends I am not helping you."

Glancing once at his closed bedroom door to make sure his gently vocalized words hadn't woken up anyone, I sat down opposite him on the bed. "Yes, about that. By 'little friends', who exactly are you talking about?"

Alzack raised an eyebrow. Or maybe he raised both, but only one was visible. "What do you mean?"

I tried to remain patient. "The last time I saw you, you complained about me and _my people_. You've been in Magnolia your whole life—you must have met other spirits who made you hate us so much. Who?"

"Why the hell do you care?"

"Kid, I'm trying _really_ hard to keep this verbal at this point."

I had a feeling that putting this boy and Lucy in the same room would cause the room to spontaneously combust from the clashing of the best of stubbornness this town had to offer.

It was late, however, and Alzack seemed to realize that because he looked exhausted. "It wasn't anyone in particular."

I waited.

"I hate spirits, okay? I hate how your lot ruined my childhood, begging me to help you _go_ on, breaking things in my room when I ignore you—I spent nineteen years as this…this _mediator_ or whatever you call it. I never signed up for this, listening to dead sisters and murdered sons as they force me to help them, okay? I just—" He scrunched his eyes shut and then opened them again, looking away, hands clenched into the bed sheets.

I was speechless for a second. A second where I almost sympathized with him. But the living had doctors and therapists and friends and the dead had other dead from a separate century. We needed the guides.

Then it hit me.

"Look, I'm sorry." I said, sounding formal and very insincere. "But you've—known about this since you were a kid?"

I didn't expect his expression to harden into a look of such loathing. "Seven years old."

My mind was scrambling for some reason now. "But no mediator can know about their powers that young. You're not—not ready yet. Most people don't know till they're seventeen or eight—"

Alzack leant forward all of a sudden; his venomous eyes uncomfortably close to mine. "I knew," he spat out. "Since my father, alright?"

It took me a little too long to realize what he meant, and I was struck with a pang of sorrow. I couldn't ask him what I'd _really_ come here to request, because the words died at the back of my throat when I saw the fury and grief in the hard set of his face.

Finally, all I said was: "Your brother…"

"I don't want to discuss my brother."

"But he—he has powers too, right?"

"Get out."

I blinked. "What?"

"What did you want, anyway?"

"I—wanted to ask for your help."

"In _what_?" he snapped.

I took a deep breath. "I know you hate ghosts—but not other mediators, right? I need you to sever the connection between a mediator and a ghost. I mean," I shrugged. "You've spent a long time avoiding the spirits by cutting them off, right?"

Alzack looked mildly interested for the first time. He leaned back a bit so that he was no longer glaring into my face. "Sever an energy line? You mean— _not_ let a ghost move on?"

"No," I interrupted. "No, not move on. We can't unless we're ready, can we?" I paused, but obviously Alzack made no indication to confirm my words, so I continued. "Like when—look I know you hate our kind and I know you've cut off spirits from any help in the past, because Mavis had told me about you and your assholeness."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Never mind. But you can do it, right? So can you do it for another mediator?"

Alzack now brushed the hair out of his face and looked at me quizzically, his mouth turned down at the corners. "Why can't he do it himself? Breaking an energy line with a spirit isn't that hard if you hate it enough."

I tried not to let the fact that he referred to a spirit as an 'it' get to me. Instead, I tried explaining it again. Lucy was probably asleep and snoring her face off back at the apartment—if she knew I was here discussing her unwanted powers, she'd probably burn something down. "See, that's the thing. It's an energy connection made over, um…" I silently counted. "Five months."

"Five _months_?" Alzack looked shocked, which was a terrible sign. "You can't—how is that—do you _live_ with a mediator?"

To answer his clearly rhetorical question, yes, yes I did. "I need to break this—this line or whatever the hell this is. The longer it gets, the weaker the mediator becomes right?"

Alzack's eyes hardened and he didn't answer me right away. "No, the longer it gets, the harder it is for a mediator to let the spirit finally pass through. He can die—and how the bloody hell do you know so much about _mediators_?"

But I'd stopped listening at his first few words. I couldn't imagine any way in which I could prevent this messed up mediator qualities of Lucy possibly killing her when I was finally ready—and she kept warning me that she would tell me and I couldn't stop it unless I left her and stayed away from her entirely.

And I wasn't sure I could do that.

"Will you help me?" I asked at last.

I wasn't surprised when Alzack scoffed out a laugh. "I don't want anything to do you with you. You're dead and you can stay it."

I wanted to so badly to hit him, but I was already getting up to slip out into the chilly air outside; all of a sudden, the warmth of the room felt scalding on my cold skin. I had probably known his answer all along, and had tricked myself into believing I could take an easy way out, to protect Lucy from something inevitable when I refused to leave her myself. With an agonizing feeling, I realized I was the only reason that could potentially kill her.

"Well?" Alzack demanded as I turned to leave, flipping off the light switch as I did.

In response, I just looked over my shoulder once in the dark, giving him the only explanation for my knowledge—"There are psychics in town."

* * *

 **Please, please do drop in a review and tell me what you think! Oh and yes, _finally_ they get a make out session. XD I'm already working on the next chapter, so see you guys then. I hope I'll be able to post it faster this time. Till then :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi guys!**

 **I'm sorry for not uploading for (eh, how many months was it? Five? Six?) a LONG time. I was immensely busy from December till mid April of this year because I had two sets of exams. I finally got around to finishing up the next chapter, and this is more than 4500 words so I tried making it slightly longer to compensate for the absence.**

 **I (FINALLY SWEET LORD, _FINALLY)_ have a long term break so I hope I can update my chapters a bit more regularly. Thanks for everyone who has reviewed or followed this story in recent months.**

 **As you can see, I changed the name and summary of the story. I wasn't happy with the old ones.**

 **Also I just wanted to mention that the story is nearing its end, I'm guessing I'll have about four or five more chapters.**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Thirteen**

"I'm leaving."

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. The impressiveness of the action was somewhat dampened by the tangled mess of bed sheets and blonde strands of hair that was cocooning my roommate as she glared at me from the bed.

"Gray," she said finally. "It's _5AM._ Can you please save your melodrama for say, four hours later?"

Understanding and considerate as always, I shook my head. I was perched in my usual position on the window ledge, my arms crossed over my chest in the general posture of defiance. Obviously I had to wake Lucy up (courtesy the pillow I had to hit her repeatedly with to accomplish said task) immediately after I entered our tiny apartment that night. I wasn't planning on disclosing my useless conversation with Alzack the Hair to her for fear of being castrated directly to purgatory, but the only option I'd left myself was staying away from Lucy permanently.

I had been _very_ resolute about my rather noble and honorable decision to leave Lucy on the slow walk back to the pizzeria. After all, very few ghosts have been as great I am.

You cannot judge me, I am dead, and therefore above all judgement.

No, I mean _literally_ above it. Look at me floating away. Poof.

But even as I battled a snoring, sweaty Lucy Heartfilia awake, all it took was one look at the person I was so bravely planning on leaving alone for the rest of whatever the hell was the remainder of my ghostliness and I felt small parts of me screaming in agony.

By the time I'd announced my grand decision making skills, I think both Lucy and I knew I wasn't going to budge an inch.

"No," I replied, trying to be as dark and brooding as an eternally seventeen year old ghost can be. "I don't want to hurt you."

Lucy snorted. "Bullshit, Fullbuster. What novel were you reading?"

"I'm serious."

She snorted for a second time. The nerve.

"I'm sure you are," she yawned out at last, her dark brown eyes fluttering shut underneath the golden storm that was her hair. "But after breakfast, right?"

"Lucy," I interrupted, trying to sound as logical as she did when _she_ was reducing me to a nervous wreck. Quite evidently, the same trick does not work on the female species. "You can't do mediator. I can't do ghost. I think I should leave this place, like I should have five months ago."

Now, Lucy opened her eyes again and sat up properly, wildly pushing the hair out of her face.

She had a very nice face.

Screw it.

"Gray." She struggled to free herself as she flipped on the bedside lamp. "When I first met you, I didn't know you, alright? If you think you can leave _now_ and expect me to pretend like we never became friends, then you're _very_ wrong because I'm going to stalk you and drag you back."

"You know, taking into consideration that _I'm_ the ghost and _you're_ , well, not, it really should be the other way around."

Lucy narrowed her eyes at me, the way she remembered to do at least thrice a week. "What I mean is, you're not leaving and you know it, Fullbuster." She paused and then added, "And for what it's worth, I can _totally_ do mediator. You suck at doing ghost."

"That is a sick joke and I am hurt, Heartfilia." But I had to bite down hard on my cheek to prevent the grin from escaping.

Lucy sighed, having given up on trying to claw her way out of the appalling mess she had managed to get herself in just by remaining in a state of rest. "Where would you go? What exactly did you plan before you woke me up so rudely?"

I opened my mouth and then shut it again. "Piper's," I mumbled. "I guess."

"You hate that place."

"It's got a casino," I protested weakly. "The continental borders of Fiore was my plan B."

Lucy Heartfilia smiled then and my dead heart was ripped apart by the beauty of it and the pain which followed the realization that it didn't matter how beautiful she was to me because it didn't, it couldn't, because, because, because. Always the pain.

"I can't believe you woke up at 5AM to be melodramatic," she remarked. "But then again, it's exactly what you'd do."

"What if I actually left?" I demanded finally, my own anger at myself rising to the surface. She heard it too, because the words tumbled out harsher than I expected. "I keep telling you I don't want to hurt you, but you keep brushing it off. I'm not kidding around, Luce." I was slightly surprised at how pleading my voice became all of a sudden. "It's—it's the most logical plan I could come up with, okay?"

Lucy sat there in her little cocoon of sheets and pillows and pajamas, looking younger and more innocent than I'd ever seen her. Then: "Come here," she said.

"I—what?"

"Get me out of this."

A tad annoyed that she was averting the question, I stepped down and crossed the creaky wooden floor anyway. Helping her out of that seemed to be asking too much of a ghost, but I sank down on the edge of the bed and reached out to tug at the corners of a blanket when Lucy wrapped her arms around me—or rather the nest of bed sheets. I was engulfed in a sudden warmth.

The air stilled.

She rested her forehead in my hair, speaking into it. "Do you want to leave?"

If I had been human, I would have been blushing furiously as I answered. "Um…right—right now?"

Her laugh reverberated through me, breaking through the sudden silence that enveloped the room. "Gray, do you want to leave this place?"

"Well, _no_ , of course not, but—" My words trailed off as she kissed my left temple, her lips lingering as she said, "Then don't."

My eyes shut at the feeling.

"Luce…"

"Don't leave, Gray." She tightened her arms around me. "Please."

 _Please._

 _Please._

I didn't need to breathe, but that uneven ragged sound in the room was definitely me struggling to remember how to inhale and exhale. "Okay."

As abruptly as she'd embraced me, she let me go, and kicked away the mess on the bed herself. "Good. That was what you wanted to hear, right?"

No. Yes. What?

"I don't like you much."

Lucy grinned. "Neither do I. Now if you'll excuse me, _goodnight_."

But as she turned to flip off the light, I caught the gleam of moisture at the corner of her eye

* * *

I'm not sure how one should react when one has a laundry basket thrown at oneself followed by an avalanche of steaming hot towels.

Steaming.

 _Steaming_ , because dear Hot Eye spent an hour dunking _all_ the hotel towels in boiling water and then another hour launching them on everyone who entered the penthouse suite on the top floor of Piper's.

Luckily, I was dead, and the laundry basket did not crack my skull.

Not so fortunately, Lucy _wasn't_ dead and she shrieked in the most feminine way she could as hot towels cascaded down her face.

"Are you okay?" I asked between helpless fits of laughter.

She clawed the towel off from her red face and gave me a poisonous look. "I'm leaving."

"Aw come on. Meet my peeps!"

Lucy crossed her arms as I dodged another hot towel attack. In the chaos that Hot Eye and his pals had created, no one noticed that a human had slipped into our neighborhood ectoplasmic hangout.

"When I said I wanted to talk to Mavis, I didn't mean I wanted to pay a visit to this ridiculous hotel."

"Ah," I said, ducking as another basket flew towards us and crashed against the hotel walls. "But this is where the magic happens."

Lucy was not impressed.

I did not _why_ Hot Eye had started a hot towel revolution and neither did I care enough to ask. It had been a very abrupt decision for me to ask Lucy to enter Piper's, and I realized now that like all abrupt decisions made by me, this too was a tragic mistake.

Mostly because _Happy_ —the infernal cat I'd dropped off at this suite—seemed to recognize Lucy. It glided out of one of the spilt laundry baskets and pressed against Lucy's legs. The view was blocked out by two or three ghostly granddads who stepped forward to join the hot towel revolution, and as usual I was stranded in this mess of a room.

Only this time, I didn't have to go hunting Mavis because she found me instead. I was less than thrilled to see Zeref slinking behind her.

"Hey mate," I told him cheerfully. "Piss off, would you?"

A number of colorful ghostly profanities later, Mavis and I took cover behind the makeshift bar counter to talk.

"I take it things went quite well with Lucy?" Mavis said immediately as we crouched in an attempt to step away from the madness. "And all your moping around was worth it?"

I glanced over the glass counter to see Lucy grudgingly pet Happy and having an animated conversation with a kid. A dead kid, obviously.

"I didn't _mope around_ ," I said in indignation. "That's not very manly."

Mavis laughed for a little too long at my response and that offended me further.

"Listen," I finally interrupted. "Lucy said she wanted to meet you, but I had to talk to you first. It's important."

Mavis sobered up a bit and nodded, brushing silver strands of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sure it is. What do you need?"

I explained my sob story to her as hastily as possible, stealing quick looks at Lucy every few seconds to make sure she wasn't already searching for Mavis or I. "So basically," I finished. "I need to—to terminate this energy line between us. Alzack is a bitch. I don't know what to do. Help, please."

Mavis had been biting her lip throughout the conversation. Now she released it slowly, sighing almost in resignation. "Gray, do you know what an energy link is?"

"Um."

Mavis sighed again, rubbing at her temples. "When people—die," she winced slightly. "They disintegrate, correct? Gradually, of course, but give it a century and it'll be dust."

"Okay, graphic, but please go on."

Mavis gave me a dirty glare so similar to Lucy's, it was almost unnerving. "When people— _can't_ disintegrate, some part of them is left like a shadow, you know? Like an imprint. Us," she added. "We're the 'some part.'"

"And there's no bloody explanation," I pointed out. "Yay."

"Well," Mavis ignored me. "When the living are able to connect with a spirit, an imprint, there needs to be something _there_ to link them. Something which matches. I think…that's why we just _know_ which mediator we're supposed to go to, you know?" Mavis fumbled to explain. "That something is an energy line. It makes us—well accessible to whatever part of the disintegration we were supposed to move on to when we're, well, ready."

"How do you know this?"

"You're not the only one who stalked mediators. My mother did, too." Mavis said quietly. "She tried explaining it to me." She looked back over her shoulder at Lucy. "I think I finally get it."

"Go on," I urged. "What happens with this link?"

"What happens with all links?" Mavis said simply. "It connects you across a line. But the longer the living are in contact with a spirit, the more their energies connect and get mixed up. It becomes tangled, at a point. Think of it as a net. It isn't like a line anymore—when one end weakens, it weakens everything it's joined to. Energies aren't meant to be toyed with."

Around us the din rose, making it uncomfortably noisy, but there was strange ringing in my ears. "So…" I cleared my throat. "So how do you break it?"

Mavis's eyebrows pulled together. "Gray," she said at last. "I don't know. How could I—" She broke off, her emerald eyes widening.

"What?" I asked impatiently. "Mavis, what is it?"

"Gray, you _arse_ ," she murmured in a low voice. "The sisters! The girl who told you about this. Why didn't you ask her?"

"She didn't—what will psychics—what?"

"Strauss," she recalled. "That's the name, right? Did it ever occur to you to ask them how to severe an energy connection?"

"Did it ever occur to you, Gray," Lucy interrupted as I jerked my head up to see her leaning over the counter looking at us. "That it would be nice to include me in a conversation which seems to involve me entirely?"

"Luce," I started, but Mavis cut me off. "My apologies, Lucy." She grinned up at her, falling into an easy character at once while I struggled to wipe the worry off my face. "Come join us."

Much to my irritation, Lucy shook her head instead. "No, I really need to talk to you alone, Mavis. Do you mind?" This question, of course, wasn't politely aimed at _me_ , but Mavis, who agreed.

I watched them with mild annoyance as Lucy and Mavis disappeared in the crowd.

I didn't move, staring aimlessly at Hot Eye's tantrums as I waited for them to return, and it wasn't until a good fifteen minutes till I realized that Lucy hadn't flinched even once since she entered a room full of dead people.

Maybe she was better at doing mediator than she realized.

* * *

Clearly, I believed one in the morning was the ideal time to have a nice psychic chat.

Breaking into the Strauss residence had become second nature to me. Then again, being potentially unseen, it probably wasn't that huge an achievement.

I landed softly on the carpeted floor of the library adjoining the hallway as I slipped through the window. I felt like there was a huge weight on my chest, a feeling I had almost always these days. But, as I looked around the familiar walls that had watched me as I had shuddered and cried in a corner trying to understand what had become of me three years ago, I realized some part of me _liked_ to have something to actually focus on.

Some purpose. I don't think I'd ever really wrapped my mind around the idea of simply _being_. Just being, with no purpose, for possibly all of eternity.

The logical decision, which I kept coming back to, was obviously to just leave the apartment. All I had to do was choose to not hover around Lucy Heartfilia and I wouldn't be breaking into houses at 1AM.

However, it seemed humans alone weren't the most selfish creatures to exist. And doing this meant losing purpose all over again, and I didn't think I could stay sane if that happened once more. There was no escape from death.

I stood there for a few minutes, deliberating and wondering how exactly to call Mirajane Strauss, when I heard a soft rustle.

I stepped forward, peering around a cabinet to catch a flash of pale ankles and the hem of a nightgown.

Sighing in relief, I walked out into the main hallway, trying to decide how to get Mirajane's attention in the least creepiest manner.

As she walked into the kitchen, I caught sight of a candle. It took a clumsy minute to fumble for matchsticks. When I finally struck it and lit the candle, she was already walking out with a glass of water.

The sudden glow illuminated a wide eyed girl with short pixie white hair, staring in bewilderment at, what I presume, would appear to her as a floating candle. She froze in the orange glow, fingers clutching the glass.

It was Lisanna, not her sister. And she didn't drop the glass.

In fact, she grinned and set it down carefully on a counter. "Spirit?" she addressed the flame cheerfully.

"Yes," I said, but of course she couldn't hear me. I tilted the candle between my fingers so a bit of wax dripped on the floor by way of response.

"Mira's not here."

I was mildly in awe of how calm the people of this house were with hovering candles and ghosts. "But I can help you."

"How can you, if you can't hear me," I muttered, already annoyed at hearing Mira wasn't there. She was probably away using psychic riddles to scare the shit out of people in corners of the country which had missed out on the pleasure of meeting a Strauss.

As if she _did_ hear me, however, Lisanna glanced back at the dark staircases once and then said, "Come." She paused. "If you want to."

I followed her into the library, holding the candle carefully, and set it down on the long wooden desk as Lisanna sat down. I noticed she was no longer wearing her hideous blue flip flops. As I stood in front of her, she grabbed a piece of paper and a fountain pen from a drawer and pushed it towards the light.

Raising an eyebrow, I took them. The simplest form of communication had never occurred to me before. In the dim glow, I scratched out a few words on the paper, my handwriting lopsided and uneven with lack of use.

 _I'm Gray. I came here with your friend, Lucy._

Lisanna read the words and bit her lip. Nodding in recognition, she looked up, and for a moment, looked directly into my eyes. I flinched, a bit unsettled at her piercing eyes in the candlelight. "Hello, Gray," she mumbled. "My sister told you about the energy link didn't she?"

I reached out and wrote: _Yes_. The ink splattered a bit as I pressed the nib too hard.

"How much do you know about it?"

 _Enough_.

"And—help me out here, I'm sorry, but…why do you care?" Lisanna looked genuinely puzzled as her eyebrows pulled together and crossed her arms. "I mean, there have other ghosts inhabiting the same place as a human, but they've never cared about energy lines."

I stared at her for a very long time, and found myself unable to fathom anything from her expression. She had a very blank, and yet mildly intimidating look to her young face. It aged her.

 _And have any of these humans ever survived?_

Lisanna's eyes hardened. "I'm not sure," she said in clipped tones. I ran my hands through my hair, knowing the real answer would be a resounding _no_.

Seeing she wasn't saying anything else, I wrote down again in frustration.

 _If I don't_ —I paused, unsure of what to write— _move on, will the energy link matter?_

Lisanna was shaking her head even before I turned the paper towards her. "It's a link, Gray, all it does is bind you. But disturb it by trying to break it and it rips you apart."

I winced. _What do I do?_

"…does Lucy mean a lot to you?"

 _Yes_

"Oh." Lisanna clasped her hands together until her knuckles went white. "Oh, that's why you're worried about it?"

 _Yes_

She paused. It was a strangely intricate process, the simple action of pausing, when Lisanna Strauss did it. Her eyes were fixated on the piece of paper. She didn't blink. Her jaw was taut, lips turned down at the corners.

Then in an abrupt instant, it fell away and she finally looked up once several aeons had passed us by.

"I don't know how to put it gently, Gray," she said at last, addressing a point above my shoulder. "But as you asked, yes, if you sever the connection, Lucy might die along with you." She said it bluntly, putting the words out there in the pregnant space between us as if she didn't just utter the words _dead_ and _Lucy_ in the same sentence.

Then again, she wasn't a coward like me.

I scrambled for the paper, hurriedly splashing ink onto it. _I won't sever it. I won't move on. Besides, I'm already dead._

"Death," Lisanna repeated. "Actual death. Not this smudge of an existence. You're just a remain of your human life, Gray." This time, she looked at me, and her voice was soft. "Are you happy, like this? I know you're thinking about Lucy, but have you thought about your situation?"

"How the _fuck_ can I be happy like this?" I snarled suddenly, forgetting about the pen and paper. But Lisanna's calm composure as she brutally voiced things I already knew was beginning to consume with an overwhelming frustration. "I'm a _ghost_. Am I _happy_?"

I was standing up before I realized it. Suddenly, the candlelight flickered frightfully hard and then blew out, leaving us in the dark. To my horror, as I fought my rage back down, I heard the shattering crunch of glass breaking.

Lisanna's head snapped up and she rushed outside the library without looking towards me. I kicked a chair in anger, and then followed her to see the glass of water she had kept on the counter now in a mess on the floor.

I remembered thinking I should stay and help her clear up what I had clearly caused with my misplaced ectoplasmic wrath.

But Lisanna stepped delicately over the broken glass and looked over her shoulder before I could do anything. "Leave," she said coldly. "Please," she hissed.

I resisted the temptation of slamming the door behind me.

* * *

It was four in the morning when I returned from the cemetery. I'd sat there the whole night, my feet up on my own gravestone and my back against a tree, trying to tell myself that if Lucy died when I died, it couldn't be that bad, and then doubling over with guilt when I realized I was effectively murdering a girl who I happened to be desperately in love with.

And then, of course, there was always the option of never moving on and just hang around the neighbourhood as Lucy grew older and eventually died. While I would still remain as a floating pain in the arse.

The worst part was that there was nowhere I could get any advice about a situation as screwed up as this. Because in general, a ghost said boo and the human phoned a ghostbuster and we scooched away to a new residence.

On less general days, the ghost made out with the human.

When I finally dragged myself back to the pizzeria, my head felt as it would implode. This was why I had to blink twice before I made out the small figure of Lucy perched on the steps in front of Belle's Corner, huddled up in her jumper with the hood drawn over her face. She was hunched in a very miserable position.

It was too early for Igneel to come downstairs and the first glow of sunlight had just brushed the pizzeria. I went and sat down silently next to Lucy.

"I'm betting the dirt's more comfortable than the bed?" I said lightly. "Tell me you were waiting for me, that'll make this more romantic."

Lucy half lifted her head once when she heard my voice, but didn't look up. Keeping it dramatic, as always. I sighed. "Okay, what's wrong?"

When she still didn't stir, I let out an exasperated groan. "Hey, Luce, I had a really long night. Mind telling me why you're even up at this time?" I waited for a response, but Lucy just sucked in a breath and kept quiet. For some reason, this irritated me. "Fine. I'm going upstairs. Join me when you're done with—whatever it is you're doing."

I ran my fingers through my hair, walking past her to push open the door and find the stairs to the second floor. As I reached the banisters, I heard footsteps and stepped back to let a dark haired girl rush past me. I noticed she was holding her heels in her arms, and she made her way in stockings to the pizzeria door and left. She was followed by Ickle Dragneel who had a serious case of bed head.

He made his way outside too, glancing once at Lucy and calling a cab for the girl.

I shook my head, leaping up the stairs three at a time.

I pushed open the unlocked door to my—our—flat, glancing around swiftly to notice that the place seemed to have spontaneously combusted in the short while that it had been in the absence of my supervision. The bed, as always, was unmade. But there was something off; I realized the desk was empty and the single closet with Lucy's belongings was hanging open, the hangers and clothes strewn in a mess on the floor.

Half of her stuff was still inside, and the rest of it seemed to be angrily piled up on the floor.

Huh. Lucy didn't seem like someone who cared for spring cleaning.

My ears perked at the sounds of yelling and I looked up so quickly that I would have cracked my neck had I been human. I waded through the mess to the window and fought the rusty latch open.

It was Ickle Dragneel—quite unsurprising, as he was the only one who'd start destroying everyone else's day before the sun even fully rose—and he was standing next to Lucy.

"—are you _crying_?" I heard him exclaim.

"Leave me alone, Natsu!"

"Well, you're sniveling all over my pizzeria—"

"It's your _father_ 's—"

"What, did you get stood up or something—geez, it's fucking four or something in the morning."

"Can you please just _leave_?" I suddenly heard Lucy's voice crack and I couldn't stay mad at her anymore. In fact, I hadn't been half as mad at her as I was at myself.

I rushed downstairs, blood boiling at the thought of Natsu mocking Luce— _my Luce._

I stepped outside into the warmth of the sun, wondering if it would be really worth it to strange Ickle Dragneel to death. I grabbed the corner of his sleeve and pushed him aside roughly.

He let out a shocked cry and stumbled back, looking frantically at Lucy, who lifted her head at the noise, mirroring his surprise.

I didn't look at Natsu, mostly because I didn't want to. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around Lucy's arm and tugged, expecting her to resist. But she let me pull her to her feet. She let me lead her inside. She let me seethe in silence at Natsu as we walked up the stairs. She let me lock the door behind us, wrap my arms around her and crush her to my chest.

She cried into the crook of my neck as I kissed her hair, not speaking. I was confused, but my worry overshadowed it. I rubbed my thumb over one of her hands, like I always did to calm her down.

"Luce," I finally said, speaking gently.

She sighed, not letting go. "My mother called."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh—what did she want? What did she say?"

"She wants to visit me."

I carefully disentangled myself from her and then gestured for her to sit somewhere. She plopped down on her own clothes.

"You never told me much about her."

"Well," Lucy spat with all the venom one could infuse into their speech. "There's not much to tell about someone who is defined by their monthly income. You need digits to describe them, don't you?"

I was taken aback at the bitterness in her voice. I imagined my own mother, pulling on my human memories, with slightly nauseating difficulty. I remembered the concept of her, if not exactly what she looked or sounded like. But I remembered her warmth, her laugh, her badly knitted Christmas scarves. With piercing nostalgia, I recalled her obsession with scented candles, her eternally half-burnt cakes, and her distaste for our ginger bobtail who had loved her endlessly in return.

"…Gray? You okay?"

I blinked. "Yeah. Sorry. What did you say?"

Lucy narrowed her eyes at me, and then looked down. "I said I'm leaving."

* * *

 **Ba dum tss**

 **Did you guys liiiike it? Did you kinda liiiike it? Did you find it a piece of garbage? Let me know by dropping in a review please, I'm short on enough reviews for this story and I'd really appreciate it! I'll see you guys next chapter.**


End file.
